Curiosity killed the Lady Cat
by Annelikestowrite
Summary: "I ask you once and for all Miss Bennet! Has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?"  Elizabeth was tired of this particular form of questioning, "Yes, he has," she finally admitted.
1. Chapter 1

**Curiosity Killed the Lady Cat**

**By: Annelikestowrite**

**Chapter 1**

It was a warm day in Hertfordshire, an oxymoronic happening for it was still well within the hours generally considered by all as morning, and the winter season no matter its current procrastination was still approaching. A song bird called forth to its mate, and a deer tentatively approached the stream, emboldened by the quiet hours of dawn.

A clamorous and cultured voice erupted through the park, shaking the trees and disturbing the flowers' gentle sways. The songbird escaped into the sky and the deer leapt into the undergrowth, "I ask you once and for all Miss Bennet! Has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?"

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was no longer able to remain calm, her patience strained beyond even its limits. Living with Mrs. Bennet for so many years, this was no little feat, "Yes, he has," she finally admitted rather maliciously; the only time of her adult life when she deliberately chose to listen to that inner voice of childish wickedness.

It was difficult to say what was going through Lady Catherine's mind at that moment, a bit of a paradox as there only had been a few choice moments in her life when she had not opted to give a voice to the _entirety_ of her thoughts. Her opinions were revered throughout the county surrounding Kent, and several of her London friends often sought her advice on every subject from hiring maids to the correct mixing of poultices. In this instance-being confronted with Elizabeth Bennet-her mouth could only open and close a couple of times. Her face purpled, both lungs contracted painfully. A few blood vessels finally burst overcome from the extensive internal pressures at work and Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park fainted dead away.

Her reluctant companion blinked, and blinked again.

The ties of her bonnet fluttered in the wind, upsetting a few of her wayward curls as Elizabeth continued to stand shocked. From the house secured behind the windows, Mrs. Bennet and Kitty watched the entirety of it unfold.

Kitty had just opened her mouth to speak, when her mother overrode her, "Oh Kitty! My nerves. Such a woman, Mr. Collin's patroness, and fainted in our own park? In the flower beds? Oh what are we to do? I always knew that Lizzy was too impertinent," she hurried out of the room, "she will ruin us all!" floated through the air as the door to the kitchens slammed.

Cook looked up at her mistress and the scullery maid shrunk away but Mrs. Bennet paid them little notice, "Lizzy!" She hurried her ample girth across the lawn, "I had Hill retrieve my smelling salts!"

Never had Elizabeth been so grateful for her mother's propensity to eavesdrop at door knobs and watch out of windows. She would know what to do! Of course those thoughts were quickly squelched when the Bennet matron opened her mouth once more, "What have you done Lizzy? To such a woman as this! Is our name to be sullied? Oh if only Mr. Collins would have taken you away! Now he will no doubt throw us out to starve in the hedge groves!" Her left eye twitched as she glared at her daughter.

Elizabeth said nothing, and Mrs. Bennet clasped a hand to her breast before bending over the Great Lady preparing to wave her bottle of ammonium under her nose, "You must apologize Lizzy, as soon as she comes around. She must be appeased!" She chewed at her lip, "If only there could be a bit of fish for dinner! Hill! Where is Hill! There may be just time for it if only we can make the most of it!" And with that, Mrs. Bennet hurried back to the house, her smelling salts and second oldest daughter left forgotten on the garden path.

'Lizzy' had listened with hardly an ear to the ramblings of her parent, instead, her mind awhirl and shocked, was just beginning to come to grips with the situation. Far from missish, she had just spent a quarter of an hour deflecting several unkind barbs made by an enraged and worthy opponent, it was little wonder that she was not at her best. And with that same enraged noblewoman now lying at her feet prone and silent, she was flabbergasted at such a turn of events. She can hardly be blamed for the slight revulsion that overcame her. Surely she should check? Just to be sure?

Twice her hand had come out, and twice it had sprung away as if burned by the exalted personage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She, Elizabeth Bennet was a gentlewoman, but was she really expected to ascertain the wellbeing of such a woman? And what would happen if said woman suddenly came to? Collectively, all these things caused Miss Bennet to hesitate. But the temperature dropped as the sun-suddenly shy-found refuge behind a particularly formidable cloud and Elizabeth knew she could delay no longer.

"Lady Catherine?" Her voice was timid. But the recipient of her call chose to ignore her. "Lady Catherine?" her second plea was raised in volume to overpower the whistling wind. A third time the hand came out, and gently placed on a bony silk-wrapped shoulder, Elizabeth shook the still woman ever so slightly, "Lady Catherine."

A touch of humor lightened Elizabeth's features for a moment as she considered what the Great Lady would have to say about lying amongst her mother's scraggly rhododendrons. But just as her lips began to ease into a smile, she immediately reprimanded herself for such uncharitable thoughts. She lowered her cheek close to Lady Catherine's mouth to check for breath. She paled; for there was no breath, the body was already rapidly cooling.

"Mrs. Hill!" Elizabeth's voice screeched much as her mother's had just done. She would later have no recollection of this.

Hill was bewildered by all of the attention she was receiving this day, but as she had always been a model housekeeper, she felt certain that she could deal with just about anything. She had walked the halls with the colicky Katherine, taught the stubborn Lydia her letters, and soothed Mrs. Bennet's frequent fits of the vapours. But when Miss Elizabeth, who had never given her any trouble, claimed that there was dead Lady in the flowerbeds, Hill very much wanted to find someone who would be willing to bring _her_ some smelling salts. Nevertheless, she was a model housekeeper; she refrained from such fancies, long enough to instruct the young Thomas to go find the apothecary.

Mr. Jones came. Mr. Jones looked. Mr. Jones poked and prodded at the body. Mr. Jones ruled it apoplexy before she even hit the ground. And after taking one look at the elegant barouche, Mr. Jones also refused to move the body.

No matter how much Elizabeth sought to detain him, begged him even to alter his opinion, Mr. Jones refused to be swayed, "I know these great people and their ways. Best to summon the family," was the last thing he said as he pulled his thin frame back into his curricle. Wishing Miss Bennet well seemed highly inappropriate given the circumstances so instead Mr. Jones only tipped his hat and drove his horse quickly away.

Elizabeth on returning to the house was further disturbed to discover that she and she alone seemed to feel the burden of responsibility. Mrs. Bennet was already absconded in her room, firm in her hysterics, and Mr. Bennet was nowhere to be seen. Jane was floating high in the clouds, practicing her soon to be new name- _Jane Bingley, oh how well that sounds!- _with a well-mended pen. Mary was pounding away a concerto, and Kitty was in the sulks somewhere. Probably with Maria Lucas who had also been a bit sulky lately.

So it fell to Elizabeth. Pondering had often done her good, and she did not see that it would do her any further harm now. Painfully, these ponderings began with the ill-timed words of the once living Lady Catherine. "Unfeeling, headstrong girl!"

Elizabeth laughed, a quick harsh sound, before bursting into tears. Would the old harridan have lived if she, Elizabeth, hadn't been so headstrong? If she hadn't had that moment of waspishness? Why hadn't she ignored her inner wickedness? And now she would have to suffer the ramifications of such a choice.

Despair settled when she realized that there was little chance that such an event could be kept secret. Once the village knew, Mr. Bingley would know. He would withdraw his attentions from her sister, perhaps he would share the situation with his sisters. And then the world would know! And she, Miss Elizabeth would be blamed. Certainly by Lady Catherine's family! With their influence she would not escape punishment. She could imagine her sentencing. Hanging certainly; the Earl, the faceless peer in the background, holding the rope. And Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy. What would his thoughts be? No different from his family surely. His Aunt, his own relation, dead at her hands! He would never forgive her.

She could not help but remember the last time she had seen him, sitting in her mother's drawing room, awaiting dinner, wearing an olive green waistcoat embroidered with gold-threaded leaves. His dark coat hugged his broad shoulders and she had never thought him so handsome. But so quiet and grave, looking and speaking to anyone but her. Never to her. Save once. He had startled her at his sudden approach, "Are you in good health Miss Elizabeth?"

The way his voice caressed her name, she could hardly remember to respond. Perhaps she had not responded, he had left so quickly after dinner, back to Netherfield and then beyond to London or Pemberley. It little mattered which. Impoverished as her family was, either might as well have been beyond the stars.

His manner had contrasted so greatly after Pemberley where he had been kind, dare she say it—agreeable even! But he'd had his friends there, his sister. He was probably comforted in his own environment. It was prideful of her to assume that his manner was all for _her_ benefit. To confine his only words to her about her health of all things? It was a dutiful inquiry and nothing more what you were supposed to speak of when there was little conversation to be had.

And even if she was wrong and in that instance his improved manners had been for her, the news of Lydia's elopement would surely have driven his good opinion away completely and thoroughly. And now that she was responsible for his aunt's death? He would despise her, hate her. And he would be justified. He would congratulate himself on his lucky escape.

With a choking sob, she realized that Mr. Darcy was forever beyond her reach. Long ago she had come to discover within herself that perhaps if situations had been different, had things continued so agreeably at Pemberley, she could have loved him. And now that the hope was completely gone, she knew how pitiable her situation truly was. For she did love him, so dearly, so completely! She was doomed to love him forever, she suspected. She had always joked of being the maiden aunt; that was her future now if she managed to escape the hangman's noose. She didn't know whether to burst into tears or congratulate herself on her foresight.

But there was nothing for it now. He and his relations must be told. She must keep the regrettable truth from them as long as possible, if only to save her family if she could. Eventually it would be discovered that was the nature of such things, but, and she knew the thought to be completely mercenary, if Jane and Mr. Bingley could wed before the world discovered her treachery, then at least her mother would not have to live out her greatest fear of starving in the hedge groves.

But what could be done? She was aware of the grave impropriety of writing to him herself. A single woman writing to a man who was neither her fiancé nor her relation was highly irregular, and entirely unacceptable. If only her father would come!

As the day lengthened and Mr. Bennet stubbornly stayed away, Elizabeth knew that her options had thinned exponentially. The news must come from her. Aware of her slight acquaintance with Miss Darcy, she contemplated writing to that lady instead. There would be no improprieties in that case.

Miss Darcy was rather shy and delicate though and Elizabeth worried for her reaction to such news. Georgiana Darcy was only a girl! She had already lost both of her parents and had nearly been taken in by a fortune hunter, all before her 16th birthday. So much sadness to be endured by someone so young. To be the messenger of such news to one so delicate did not settle well with Elizabeth.

And so she sat at her writing desk in the corner of her once cheery room, now overcome with her melancholy, and stuck within the proprieties of society. Never had she been at such a loss for words before. Never had she to communicate such news as this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Papers-crumpled and littered-surrounded Elizabeth, still sitting at her desk. She read over her latest draft and finally nodded to herself. It was a letter that she could _almost_ approve of. But the hour was getting late, Mr. Bennet still could not be found, so it fell on her shoulders to do _something_ in his stead. One delicate white hand rose to rub at the tension weighing down her shoulders.

Sighing, she poured a generous handful of sand across her words, dusting them dry.

No sooner had Elizabeth grasped for the sealing wax, than a cacophony of sound reached her ears from the open window. Her head rose and she glimpsed her father just coming through the front gate. Finally he had appeared! Already he had been accosted by her mother, his valet who was valiantly trying to relive him of his hat and cane, and the housekeeper Mrs. Hill. The animated hand gestures of her mother were telling, the incident of the dead Lady in the flowerbeds was being regaled and with great drama it seemed.

Worry clenched her heart, it was already beginning. She had forgotten amidst her own melancholy, her mother's lack of ability to keep things to herself. Mrs. Bennet had passed the afternoon having crying fits alternating between worry as to what would become of them all once Lady Catherine's demise was discovered and what could possibly be keeping Mr. Bennet. Now that her father was home, and Mrs. Bennet was cured from her latest bout of worry over his health and general well-being, she would gleefully turn to sharing her bit of juicy gossip, a dead Lady, and in her own garden too!

Mrs. Phillips would soon know of it, probably as early as the coming morning and the entire village would be informed before tea time. And the shunning would begin. Somehow they had managed to avoid a scandal after Lydia's misstep. They could not be so lucky twice. And to think that it was all brought on their head by herself! Her mother would be sure to share that as well. Her least favorite child embroiled in a scandal! If Elizabeth did manage to escape the hangman's noose once Miss Darcy and her relations were informed, she surely wouldn't escape the intense scrutiny and critiques of society.

Mr. Bennet and his 'entourage' had just disappeared into the house. Elizabeth rose from her seat-the letter still in her palm waiting to be sealed-and hurried out of the room.

"What are we to do Mr. Bennet?" the strident screeches of Mrs. Bennet reached the stairs. "We are all ruined! A woman dead in the flower beds? I saw it all! We cannot escape such shame!"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Bennet," the tired voice of her father was annoyed. "Perhaps we would save ourselves from shame if you would learn to keep your tongue in front of the servants?"

"Mr. Bennet!"

"If you will give Hanks a moment to relieve me of my coat, we can further discuss this in the library." He looked towards the stairs as his second eldest descended, "Ah Lizzy, there you are. Come into the library will you?"

Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips, but chose to remain silent.

"Now Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Bennet said as he closed the door firmly behind her, "You may continue."

"It's all Lizzy's fault! I know it! One moment they are talking, the next the Great Lady falls dead into the flower beds."

Elizabeth adverted her eyes, her cheeks already flaming. If her own mother could say such things, imagine what would happen when the rest of the county learned of it!

"Struck her with her reticule then did she?"

Elizabeth's head flew up; her father was smiling mockingly at his wife. Mrs. Bennet drew herself up to her full height of 4 feet 11 inches, "No..but she…"

"Ah was it a book then? Elizabeth always seems to have one of those handy." Elizabeth frowned at him. How could her father be making light of all of this?

Mrs. Bennet stamped one slipper incased foot, "Mr. Bennet! Lizzy didn't touch her." Her eyes narrowed for a minute as she considered, "At least not that I could see…" She looked Elizabeth over critically.

"Mother!" Elizabeth ejaculated.

Mr. Bennet overrode any further outbursts from Mrs. Bennet, "Well Lizzy? What have you to say for yourself?" He turned away, towards his desk and poured a generous amount of brandy into a snifter.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh arrived this afternoon; she wanted to speak to me out in the garden."

Mr. Bennet waved his hand impatiently, "Yes, yes, I know all of this, your mother," he motioned to his wife negligently, "has already informed me of this."

"We were speaking…" her cheeks colored again, "I would rather not speak of what we were discussing. It is not well to say such things of the dead, she mortified me with some of her stronger language and I said something I should not have."

"You and your tongue Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet broke in.

Mr. Bennet took a large gulp of his spicy brew, "Yes, thank you Mrs. Bennet. Please continue Lizzy."

"But Mr. Bennet!"

"Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Bennet's voice was very stern, "As you have led me to understand you were not in the garden at the time. As such, Lizzy is the sole owner of the facts in this case. I would ask you to remain silent! I believe the term, 'silence as the grave applies,' not only in my library, but in the rest of the house _and_ the village." He fortified himself with one more gulp of brandy, "If we are indeed to be ruined, I would prefer that it not occur because of the idle gossip coming from my own home!" Mrs. Bennet opened and closed her mouth a few times before sealing it shut into a thin line of indignation. "Do I make myself clear, Mrs. Bennet?" he quirked one eyebrow at her.

"But…Mr. Bennet!"

"Mrs. Bennet, if you truly wish for all of your daughters to profit from Jane's recent triumph, it would be better for you to keep the death of a Lady in our flowerbeds to yourself."

Elizabeth looked at her mother, watching her struggle between her two desires, marriage of the rest of her daughters to other rich men, and the temporary notoriety that would come from the telling of such a juicy tale. Finally, she nodded though her face remained forbidding. Elizabeth breathed in relief. At least _that_ crisis was adverted for the time-being.

"Now Lizzy…"

Elizabeth gathered her thoughts, and forced the story out, "She…Lady Catherine…she clutched at her chest and her face changed color, and then she fainted. Mr. Jones said it was apoplexy, that there was a hemorrhage…"

Mr. Bennet nodded, "Yes I am aware of the condition. Well, well." He looked at his daughter, noting the red rings around her eyes, and her stooped and tired frame. "Sit down child," he motioned to the wing-backed chair tucked between a shelf full of books and a small side table sagging from the weight of a lamp, a box of cigars and a large stone figurine.

The disorder of her father's library had always been a source of comfort for Elizabeth, but that afternoon she noticed none of it. Once she had seated herself, she heard the rustling of paper against her muslin dress. The letter!

"I thought, I knew that her family would like to be informed, and Hanks was unaware of your whereabouts. I wrote this letter," she pushed it into her father's hand.

"The day I pick to finally indulge in a bit of hunting with my future son-in-law," Mr. Bennet muttered to himself as he took the single page into his hands. He read it over once, and then looked up at his daughter, his eyebrows raised. She said nothing, and after a moment he bent his head to read it once more before folding it closed, "It's not a bad letter, my dear."

Elizabeth frowned, "But now that you are here, surely it would be proper for you to…"

Mr. Bennet waved a hand, "Oh there's no reason for that. You have written the facts quite eloquently, as well as conveying the appropriate sympathies. It will do."

"But Father…"

Mr. Bennet silenced her, "And I rather suspect that the Great Lady is still in the flowerbeds awaiting removal."

"Well it was only me and the girls," complained Mrs. Bennet.

"I thought Hanks was here."

Mrs. Bennet's hands began to flutter, "Well yes, but…"

"And what of Thomas?"

"Thomas fetched the apothecary," Mrs. Bennet replied crossly.

Mr. Bennet pursed his lips for a moment, "There is something I still don't understand: If Mr. Jones was here, why didn't _he_ remove the body?"

"Mr. Jones believed it would be an insult to the family to interfere with whatever funeral arrangements they would deem appropriate," Elizabeth said.

"Ah yes, the Great Family, of which I believe Mr. Darcy is a member? Mr. Darcy. Of all men! I suppose he would find this situation far from tolerable, eh Lizzy?"

Elizabeth looked away from her father's sardonic eye; if only he knew!

"Still, she cannot remain in our flowerbeds. Lizzy, best sent Hanks to post the letter. Thomas and I will lift the Great Lady," a smile twitched at his lips, "Finest guest room Mrs. Bennet?"

"Oh Mr. Bennet!" Mrs. Bennet collapsed into a chair, her handkerchief covering her eyes.

* * *

><p>The deep night of an approaching winter surrounded the Longbourn estate, and silence reined inside the depths. Save from one room, the light from its window, defying the darkness. Elizabeth sat near that window, brushing out her hair. Jane sat across from her on the bed, braiding her own tresses¸ "I cannot believe that Lady Catherine came here!"<p>

"And died here," some of Elizabeth's humor was returning to her.

"Oh Lizzy," Jane reprimanded, "It is sad really. That she had to die so far away from her home and family. I would not want that for me," Jane let out a shudder.

"You are too good to die alone Jane," Elizabeth asserted.

Jane smiled sadly, "Did she really saw such awful things to you?"

Elizabeth ran the comb through her hair for a moment before answering, "Yes she did." Though Elizabeth had steadfastly kept the entirely of the tale from her father, she could not keep such secrets from Jane: her sister and wisest councilor, soon to be taken away from her. Three miles was nothing compared to Jane becoming Mrs. Bingley. They would be separated forever then, Jane could no longer be her confidant for she would be Mr. Bingley's. Elizabeth would be alone. Now more than ever, she craved Jane's good sense and wisdom.

Elizabeth tried to escape from the melancholy gripping her heart, "Lady Catherine was all condescension, amidst critiquing and criticizing my conduct she did manage to have some very nice things about our gardens."

"Oh Lizzy!" Jane's tone wasn't unkind but it still held a trace of censure.

"I hardly know what I am about Jane," Elizabeth turned away as her eyes began to well up with tears, "It was all so sudden. I fear I have caused her death."

"No, of course not!"

"It was my words!" Elizabeth chewed on her lip, "She had not been expecting them. I'm not sure why I said what I did. I had not meant to confess."

"Confess?" Jane looked at her earnestly, "Mr. Darcy asked you to marry him. _He_ did it, not you! Lady Catherine could not blame you for that."

"She felt I trapped him with my 'arts and allurements,'" Elizabeth admitted wirily.

"Such a terrible thing to say," the tips of Jane's ears flushed with her indignation, "She could not have meant it."

"You are too good Jane!" Elizabeth swallowed painfully, "But she did. She did mean it. And I fear, that I in my anger gave her an answer that caused the hemorrhage that killed her. I will never forgive myself! And neither shall Georgiana Darcy when she has read my letter," she added quietly.

"Your letter? But didn't Father…"

Elizabeth shook her head, "I had written it before Father returned. He read it, deemed it appropriate and instructed me to mail it."

Jane's light eyebrows knit together, "But surely Father should have written Mr. Darcy! To have such a note delivered to Miss Darcy…"

"Yes, it was very wrong of him," Elizabeth's voice carried an irony that Jane did not like.

"You have always loved Father, Lizzy. Why do you doubt him now?"

Elizabeth looked out into the black night. Jane was right, she did doubt father. When had that happened? It had come on so gradually, the first visit of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy to the neighborhood had been the catalyst she supposed. Her father had never seemed so unfeeling, reprimanding poor Mary the night of Mr. Bingley's ball. And then to be so careless about Lady Catherine's demise. Her opinion of him had been irrevocably changed. Elizabeth finally turned back to Jane who was looking at her so expectantly, "Lizzy, are you well?"

"Merely wool-gathering." Elizabeth tucked one thick strand of hair behind her ear, "Jane, do you remember when we were young, Father was so wise and good, and ever so handsome?"

Jane smiled wistfully, "You wanted to marry a man just like Father."

Elizabeth nodded, and looked back towards the fire watching the wood blackening against the flames, "Do you think it is wrong of me to think differently?"

Jane looked at her confused, "I don't think I understand."

Elizabeth let out a long sigh, "I have out grown such foolish fantasies I suppose is what I mean. I doubt there is a man who would take me as I am now."

"Never Lizzy," Jane insisted, "Any man would be lucky to have you!"

"No Jane," Elizabeth shook her head as the tears she had been holding back began to trickle down her cheeks. There was only one man she wanted. It was all too late for such dreams! "After what has occurred with Lady Catherine, I am perhaps no longer good enough for anyone. I shall never marry."

"You mustn't think so!"

"I am tired," Elizabeth rose from the fire and moved towards the bed all the while avoiding Jane's eye, "Will you blow out the candle?"

Jane nodded and did so, "Things aren't so bad Lizzy."

The only answer from Elizabeth was one long drawn out sigh. Jane turned to leave, her sister left in silent melancholy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The music room had always been Miss Darcy's favorite at Pemberley. The soft gossamer curtains whispering in the wind and the cheery yellow striped walls always soothed her. The room had once been her mother's sitting room. It was still very much a sitting room. The chairs and sofas that had been handpicked by her mother were still there. The furniture was a bit shabby, and as Miss Bingley would say, quite old fashioned, but Miss Darcy refused any proposed changes or reupholsterings.

It was a comforting place for her, the only room that she could still feel her mother's presence knowing that she had been brought here as a baby, right before her mother had begun to slip away. It was the one room that her father truly reverenced. The one place in the vast house that he would not let forget his wife. The solarium had crumbled, the dining room was gutted, fresh flowers had been forbidden in the hallways, even the picture of Mrs. Darcy done shortly after her wedding had been removed from the gallery. But the sitting room remained as it ever was.

And he had never set foot in it after his wife had died. It was if it did not exist. Perhaps wrapped up in his grief he had forgotten about it entirely.

Georgiana had found it exactly one year ago, even under the dust and grime of a decade, it had been easy to fall in love with it. A bit of work, and now it was hers. Her very own retreat. Vaguely she remembered the room when her mother had presided, a foggy image of that beloved parent with golden hair and rosy cheeks. It was so fleeting, the memory, but she held on to it jealously. She would never let go, she would never forget.

The only addition to her mother's sitting room had been the pianoforte, making the room Georgiana's own private music room. Her mother had not played the pianoforte but the harp. Miss Darcy's fingers were too thin to really excel at the harp.

There was of course a much grander music room, one of the public rooms specifically designed as a performance room with a large harp and pianoforte at one side, and seats evenly spaced throughout the rest. Miss Darcy uncomfortable with performing in public preferred this more intimate room.

She was just working through the tricky fingering of a composition by the German composer when a scratching sounded at the door. Her fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard. She swung around on the stool and faced the door, her hands held composedly in her lap, "Come in."

The footman Smith entered, his eyes downcast and shoulders slightly hunched forward. He was a serious young man and very shy, a second son of one of her brother's tenants, "An express came for you Miss."

"For me!" Smith's cheeks reddened, he thrust the letter at her and turned thundering from the room as quickly as his legs would take him.

A confused pout formed as Georgiana turned the letter over. Perhaps it was meant to be forwarded onto her brother in London and Smith had made a mistake? But no, there was her name, written in a woman's hasty scrawl. She did not recognize it. Eagerly, she broke through the seal, her curiosity getting the better of her. Her eyes enlarged impossibly wide as she read:

_Dear Miss Darcy,_

_First I must apologize for the impropriety of addressing this letter to a personage such as yourself. _

_As you have no doubt noticed this letter was sent express, I will come straight to the point and not toy with your intelligence any further. _

_I feel it my only option, my situation being what it is, to inform you of some dreadful circumstances which have occurred involving a beloved member of your own family at my father's estate. Your Aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh paid us a social call earlier this morning. While she was here, she suffered from the grievous condition known as apoplexy. According to our apothecary, Mr. Jones, death was immediate and she suffered but little. I am dreadfully sorry that such an event has occurred in my home. I know that our acquaintance was slight, but I have no wish to injure you with such dreadful news. I hope your grief will not be of too long a duration. _

_I was grateful for the opportunity to meet you this past summer, you are a wonderful girl._

_With deepest regrets,_

_Elizabeth Bennet _

The letter fell from Georgiana's hands, trembling to the floor, but she took no notice of it. Aunt Catherine was dead? She remembered her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam joking in moments of candidness that Aunt Catherine would surely outlive them all! His father the Earl had agreed with a loud guffaw, "A woman as _attentive _as Lady Catherine wouldn't dare die and leave the rest of us without her _advice_." There had been an appreciative chuckle that rippled through the dining hall at Matlock that Christmas, even Fitzwilliam and her father had managed a small smile. Georgiana had been a confused 7 year old. Now older, she'd had some personal experience with the excessive attentiveness of her Aunt, _Sit up straight Georgiana! Don't strain your eyes with too much reading Georgiana!_ Aunt Catherine had ever been a source of critiques and reproaches, never praise. Georgiana was terrified of her.

And now she was dead. A weight settled onto her shoulders, one she could not shake. No one else knew about her Aunt's demise, save herself, Miss Bennet had been quite clear about that. What was she to do? She remembered the day she had become parentless at the death of her father. She was still a child in many ways, but definitely old enough to realize what was happening around her. The face of her brother had turned ashen white at the news and remained that way. He hardly ever shed that gloomy countenance. She had seen him smile, truly smile on only a few occasions, when he had interacted with their cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and when Miss Bennet had been here at Pemberley. She had been such a breath of fresh air mingled amongst the stuffy Miss Bingley and Hursts. And such a strong character! Miss Darcy wished she could be strong and steady like Miss Bennet. She had been so kind. Georgiana's heart went out to her. What a trial for her though, it must surely have taxed her to attend to Aunt Catherine both in life and death. Miss Bennet had claimed it was a social call, but it must be at least a day's journey in between Kent and Hertfordshire, what had her Aunt been doing there? A social call it probably was not.

Of her own volition, Georgiana saw Aunt Catherine rarely. Her earliest memory was after the death of her father when the family had convened. Her Aunt Catherine had descended upon them to make demands upon her brother's time. Georgiana had been swept to the side, "the poor child!" Everything had been decided for her future comfort and happiness though no one had bothered to ask her opinion. Not that she was complaining. Fitzwilliam proved to be a loving brother when he could pull himself away from his ledgers and fields. On hot summers day before the harvesting began in earnest, he would welcome her into his study and they would read, or play cards together. Such moments did not occur often, but she knew he was devoted to her. The events of last summer had proven that. He was all she had. And conversely, _she_ was all he had.

She was relieved somehow to know that her Aunt could never now learn about what had almost transpired with George Wickham. It struck her suddenly that such a thought was probably very wicked indeed. Her Aunt was dead and she was rejoicing in it! She had yet to shed a single tear. She remembered George's final words-his usually placid voice, sharp and dangerous as a knife-spoken to her brother after he had refused to give another penny to such a wastrel, "Your sister is no Lady."

It was a threat, and it had worked. Darcy had thrown Wickham out, but not before giving him an additional 1000 pounds to keep quiet about the events at Ramsgate. She would never forget George's words, _no Lady_. If Aunt Catherine had ever found out she would have made life for Georgiana very miserable indeed!

She looked down at her hands, her fingernails trimmed short so she could play the pianoforte. Aunt Catherine always said she needed to practice more, she had been quite adamant about it. A small smile crossed her lips. Aunt Catherine loved to offer her own brand of assistance. Georgiana could imagine her in the afterlife, looking down upon them all, still dictating. She choked out a laugh, which quickly turned into a sob. Poor Aunt Catherine.

Poor Miss Bennet! It was obvious from her letter that she was very distressed over the situation. To have to write such a letter!

She frowned, where was Cousin Anne during all of this? If Miss Bennet was writing to her, it meant that Anne did not know! Poor Anne, now she was an orphan too! She should write to Anne! As Aunt Catherine's nearest relation, Anne should be informed. But what could she write? She was not very close with Cousin Anne, had hardly seen her really. No, she knew she could never compose such a letter, she would hardly know how to begin.

Fitzwilliam would know. He, Anne and Richard were quite close, their ages being so similar. He would know what to say, how to comfort their cousin. Best to leave it to Fitzwilliam.

She rose to her feet, folded the letter neatly into her pocket and rushed up to her room. There she would compose a short note and include Miss Bennet's letter. Even distressed, Miss Bennet had managed to convey the salient points much better than Georgiana could ever have done.

She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Annesley's voice, urging her that it wasn't ladylike to run through the halls. Georgiana purposely ignored her, decorum be hanged!

* * *

><p>Fitzwilliam Darcy devoid that morning of any gentlemanly pursuits was calmly surveying his breakfast table and ignoring the food on his plate, pushing his eggs around in tight perfect circles. He wasn't very hungry. Lethargy had set in, centered as always on one thing. Or one person rather, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.<p>

The short season at Pemberley had been as redemption for him. A chance to show Elizabeth that he had heeded her words and was _practicing_ to be a proper gentleman. He had greeted her friends and found, surprisingly, that he actually was enjoying himself as he conversed with Mr. and Mrs. Gardener. They were both refined and intelligent, not the Uncle and Aunt tainted by trade that he had expected.

Elizabeth had finally seemed within his reach. After months of suffering with only his broken heart for company, hope stirred. He might have a chance to woo and win her.

She had never seemed so beautiful. Every look, every blush was catalogued. All he thought of was her, all he wished for was her. But he couldn't be hasty; after his disastrous proposal at Rosings he realized that he could never be certain of any affections on her part, but he hoped…he hoped that she was warming to him. Perhaps she liked him; even a little.

He was a fool. A bloody fool.

_Elizabeth,_ his heart called, _was it all a dream? _Wickham, his lip curled; was _he_ to ruin everything? Weeks away from her amid all the baseness of mankind, in the filthiest parts of London, he had finally triumphed and returned to her a starved man. All he needed was one look, one word for his soul to be nourished and healed after all the deprivation it suffered dealing with black-hearted Wickham.

Longbourn had been a disaster. He had seen the despondency in her eyes but briefly as he tried to greet her. Their eyes had met for a moment; she refused to look at him again after that. It was like Pemberley did not happen. Once, she had spoken to him, her voice dry and brittle and lifeless as if she would break at any moment. Her eyes had never raised from her study of his hessians as she had spoken a few short words.

It had wrenched at his heart, literally torn it in two. That was the moment that the despair took him. _The last man _she _could ever marry!_ Yes, indeed he was. The summer at Pemberley had been a dream, now his life was a nightmare. She didn't care for him at all.

Broken, Darcy remembered nothing of the trip back to London. Barely having arrived at his London house, he secreted himself in his book room and uncorked a bottle of brandy and downed it in a single hour. He was just moving to find another bottle when he passed out.

He did the same thing the next day, the next day, and the next. He would forget her! He must!

Witcher, his butler suddenly entered the room, "Letter for you, sir."

Darcy wasn't particularly surprised by this. He had been expecting a letter, too long away from Pemberley his steward would be needing his presence. He took the letter-folded over twice-breaking the seal. A sheet of paper fluttered to the floor, forgotten as he read the words, _Dear Brother._

Wait a minute? He turned the sheet over,

_Mr Darcy, London House_

was ascribed in his sister's looping hand. His eyebrows creased as he began perusing the missive,

_Dear Brother,_

_Received some distressing news this morning, I hardly know what to write so I have included the original letter. Know that I am well, Pemberley is beautiful this time of year, _

_Love, Georgiana_

The letter on the floor since neglected was at once picked up. He did not recognize the hand and the first few lines left him quaking in fear. An express sent to Georgiana? It could only bode for ill tidings. Had someone found out about Wickham's imposition upon Georgiana?

He read further on. _Father's estate…Lady Catherine dead?_ Surely not. _Mr. Jones…death from apoplexy_. Mr. Jones, why did that name sound familiar? Who was this mysterious writer? His eyes moved to the end, _Elizabeth Bennet_. His hand fell to his side, the letter fluttered once more to the floor. Elizabeth! His Aunt had died at Longbourn? Why was Lady Catherine there? The letter was vague, hardly descriptive. And apoplexy, he knew what that meant. His mother's sister had lost her temper, suffered a fit, and died.

What had happened? How could it have happened? All of these dizzying questions demanding answers; he couldn't think of a single one. He plucked the letter up once more, hoping he had missed something.

He had not.

The facts thus stated in Elizabeth's neat hand: Lady Catherine paying a social call at the Bennets, Lady Catherine dead at Longbourn. The one thing he could not fathom was why Lady Catherine had been there at all. She rarely traveled. And for a social call? She hardly knew Elizabeth Bennet, had never met the rest of her family save her ridiculous cousin the parson.

What was he missing? He needed an explanation. There was only one thing to do. His stomach did an odd kind of a flip. He would need to return to Hertfordshire, to its tamed beauty and its enigmatic residents. One resident in particular. Elizabeth Bennet. He hoped he would be strong enough for another foray.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sam Baily sat on top of the Darcy carriage outside number 15 Grosvenor Square, hunkered beneath his oiled coat trying to protect himself from the rain. He was understandably confused by his mid-morning summons. It was rare for the Darcys to be such impulsive travelers. And on such a day as well! The rain fell in thick sheets soaking into his clothes and wetting his skin. His missus would be none too happy if he caught a touch of the influenza. From his pocket he pulled his hip flask and took a generous swig of brandy. That fiery liquid spread to his stomach and through his limbs. Much better!

Mr. Darcy emerged from his house then, under the protection of an umbrella held by Witcher. Sam tugged at his forelock, "Mr. Darcy, sir."

Darcy stopped for a moment, his eyes suddenly on Sam. "Thank you," he inclined his head, and Sam understood that to be his apology for having to travel in such conditions.

Sam picked up the reins and held the horses at the ready, "Herefordshire, sir?"

Darcy's eyes flicked to Sam again, but his driver was already faced front and whatever his tone had suggested, Darcy feared he would never know. The footman at the base of the carriage stairs opened the coach door and Darcy climbed inside.

"Drive on Sam." With a flick of Sam's wrist, they were off.

London metamorphosed around him as the coach plodded onwards, but Darcy saw little of it, the black curtains drawn together to shut out all light. Inside his family crested carriage he sat alone, his only companion, a pounding headache, the lack of breakfast had invited it in. He positioned a carriage pillow behind his aching head and leaned against the wall. His impulsive flight to Meryton-Longbourn rather, and, he admitted privately to Elizabeth-had not given him any time at all to restore his appetite.

Invariably, as soon as he thought of Elizabeth, his thoughts became consumed with her. The glorious time at Pemberley, the nightmare that had been Rosings. With his Aunt looking on, there had been little interaction to be had. What would Lady Catherine have said if she knew what he had planned, what he had done?

His Aunt was proud, like many of her generation she was stern in her displeasure of the lower classes. _Fitzwilliam, you are one of our noble line, never forget that! _

He could hear her voice commanding even now, _Certain things are due our name._

The sounds of the carriage wheels moving over the road beneath his seat reminded him of her cane, thumping as she pressed her point, _There is a standard, a certain level, all others do not matter._

She had been ever in his thoughts, even when he had gone and proposed, somehow her voice had taken control. He had spoken of duty, honor, pride, but not love. Elizabeth had been so beautiful, her color high, perturbing shyness had overcome him. And she had said no.

Afterwards, he had silenced his pride, _but she is a gentleman's daughter_. But his pride, sounding suspiciously like his Aunt, strident in its criticisms refused to listen, "_Who was her mother, her Aunts and Uncles?"_

When he had arrived back at the house, he had avoided everyone, choosing instead to wallow in his self-pity and angry pride alone. When he had encountered his Aunt late the next morning, she had been almost obliging, almost kind as she had been when his father was still alive. He had realized then that perhaps it wasn't her that had been speaking to him, but his own pride. Elizabeth was a gentleman's daughter, not wealthy but respectable. And he loved her. Lady Catherine could not have objected.

For years he had avoided his Aunt, only visiting her yearly as a sense of duty. Her fields were in ruins, her tenants miserable, Lady Catherine had never been the best manager. She needed a steward, but when he had suggested it, she staunchly refused. He had let the subject drop seething in his anger at such obliviousness.

The sharp rocking of the carriage over the pebbles of the London streets exacerbated his headache. He closed his eyes in agony. When was the last time he'd had a civil conversation with his Aunt? Surely she was capable of it, even when she was in a postulating mood? Lately all of their conversations had been clipped, and thankfully short, neither able to keep a tight control over their temper. If he had tried a little harder though!

He shook his head as the carriage gave an uncomfortable lurch. He had failed again. He had done his duty to his Aunt, but little more. Certainly that had been true on his last visit to Rosings. He had barely acknowledged her.

He remembered Elizabeth who was always so kind to her silly younger sisters and the ridiculous Mr. Lucas. She had even remained civil in the face of Miss Bingley's apparent hostility. What would Elizabeth have to say about his impoliteness to his Aunt? She was all that was good and wonderful, a true moral compass. Surely she would have instructed him! Perhaps even to practice in that arch way of hers.

There would be no practice, not anymore, not with Lady Catherine gone. And he had little time to be thinking about Elizabeth, he berated himself. He was going into Hertfordshire only to collect the body of his Aunt. Once they returned to Rosings he would need to arrange a funeral and gather the family together. As always though, Elizabeth dominated. Every moment he sent away from her, he thought of her Every detail he had memorized. The rose oil she wore in her hair, her light step as she tread down the stairs, the arch of her eyebrows. And when he was with her, the strings of her spell wove around him, engulfing him entirely. He had to see her during this trip, to speak to her, even if it was for a moment.

He pulled his beaver off of his head and tugged the gloves off of his hands The warming bricks at his feet and the blanket over his legs made them unnecessary for warmth. He wished he could sleep. In his dreams he was happy, the pain was gone, as if it never existed. Elizabeth had said yes.

Darcy closed his eyes and instantly summoned up her form. His favorite memory, when he had come upon her and his sister in the sitting room of Pemberley. He had entered so quietly that none of the ladies had taken notice and he had enjoyed a moment to watch her as she daintily extended one dimpled arm to pick a sweet off of the tea tray. She had selected an orange mille-feuille, his favorite. After a nibble, her tiny pink tongue had darted out from her parted lips to taste a bit more of the crème. His feet had propelled him forward, wanting to be near her. Mrs. Hurst had called to him then.

His eyes flew open at a particularly nasty dip in the road. The ache in his head started sharply and he clutched at his head.

Darcy opened the curtains. His coach had reached the farms on the outskirts of the Meryton township. Even with the rain, the fields were dead or dying, preparing themselves to weather through the winter. That bitter season was coming. He needed to return to Pemberley before the first snow made the roads impassible.

As Sam drove them through the town and past the bookshop and the milliners, he steeled his emotions. He was not here for Elizabeth. He was here as a final respect to his aunt, to take her body home to Rosings and see that it received a proper burial. Even now his express to the Matlocks was traveling ever closer to their estate. He hoped that his entire family could be gathered within a day or two. And then his Aunt would be laid to rest. Until then, there was much to do. Though ever sinew within him called to Elizabeth, he could not respond. She must be Miss Bennet to him. If he was to do his duty.

His head rested in his hand as the town disappeared behind him. Rain drops clung to the wild grasses and dirty water splattered up from the road and muddied the window, but still he could see Netherfield, its picture windows buttoned up tight against the rain, the stables probably full of Bingley's horses neighing and the stable boys probably smoking their pipes.

At the edge of the park was a valley gathering water, and over the tree tops, he could see the smoking chimneys of Longbourn. The home of his love. Elizabeth…_Miss Bennet_ his duty reminded him. Why could he not reconcile them both? Why must his duty still be at war with his heart?

The carriage wheels paused under a portico. He looked out at the scraggly trees and squat stucco walls of Longbourn. The windows, were dark the curtains closed against the gloom of the impending winter. Usually the house was boisterous and energized. Now it seemed so very quiet, like his own Pemberley, he realized how much his house was in need of a spirited mistress. He had wanted it to be Elizabeth…Miss Bennet. But she didn't want him. Not at Rosings, not at Pemberely, and certainly not here.

He straightened instantly as he climbed to the ground, his eyes hooded over and he prepared to come face to face with his misery. The time was now.

An elderly housekeeper answered his knock, "Yes, sir?"

He pulled one of his calling cards from his pocket and handed it towards her, "Mr. Darcy. Is there…"

The housekeeper spoke over him, "Miss Bennet has asked that you be shown into Mr. Bennet's study sir."

"Miss Bennet?" His eyebrows knitted, "Ah yes, thank you."

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy, "Follow me sir."

He saw none of the houses inhabitants as the housekeeper led him down a dark and pokey hall to what he presumed was Mr. Bennet's study.

"Mr. Bennet sir?" the housekeeper knocked lightly on the door, "Mr. Darcy is here."

"Let him come in."

"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet rose from his feet the moment Hill closed the door. He extended his hand, "We are deeply sorry for your loss."

"Thank you Mr. Bennet."

"Would you care for anything?" Mr. Bennet raised a nearly empty bottle of port.

"I, no, I thank you." He had never spoken to the man before, suddenly he felt like he was facing a predator, and a very unpredictable one at that.

"Please sit then," Mr. Bennet retook his seat.

"Thank you," he sat erect in the seat, uncomfortable. This was Elizabeth…Miss Bennet's! father. If he was anything like his daughter, which Darcy suspected he was, he would have to be on his guard.

"I suppose you received news of your aunts passing?" Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow.

"The letter I received from…my sister was a bit vague as to the details of Lady Catherine's demise. I should like more of the facts."

"Apoplexy," Mr. Bennet said. He sat back in his chair, the tips of his fingers resting under his chin. He watched Darcy, his gaze enigmatic, his eyes cool and green, just like all of his daughters.

Darcy shifted a bit in his seat feeling every bit the errant schoolboy. "Yes, but I should like to know more of the circumstances."

"I am afraid that our apothecary was vague."

"Perhaps it would be wise if I spoke to him?" Darcy was starting to get irritated by Mr. Bennet's generally tranquil attitude.

Mr. Bennet shrugged, "Mr. Jones has washed his hands of the situation. Hence why your Aunt is still with us."

Darcy's mouth dropped open, "The body is here?"

Mr. Bennet nodded once.

"Why?" It was a loaded question filled with irony and accusations.

"Mr. Jones thought it would be wise to not intervene in any funeral plans the family might have had." Mr. Bennet did not even blink.

"And there is nothing further that you can tell me."

"That is the entire situation, as I know it." The turn of Mr. Bennet's mouth reminded Darcy of Elizabeth's… Miss Bennet's…when she had rejected him.

He hadn't given up then either, "Was no one with her when this happened?"

"No one."

"She was alone? I have a hard time believing that."

Mr. Bennet leaned forward and poured a glass of port. He saluted Darcy with it and took a casual sip, "You ever considered becoming a solicitor?" He smiled cynically as he looked over Mr. Darcy's well-tailored attire, "No I suppose, not."

Why did Darcy feel like he was being led down the garden path? He had just spent 4 hours in a carriage-he was still covered in his traveling dirt, and his headache was making a reappearance, he did not have the energy for this, "Can someone take me to her?"

"Of course." He rose to his feet, placed his glass carefully on the table then walked to the bell pull and tugged it once.

"Mrs. Hill," he spoke to the housekeeper, "Show Mr. Darcy upstairs."

The housekeeper, wiped her hands quickly on her apron, "Of course sir. Please follow me, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy had little difficulty keeping up with Mrs. Hill as she lumbered her girth through a second hallway and towards the stairs. Darcy could hear music coming from one of the rooms, a set of scales being played. And in the distance, the quiet soothing voice of the eldest Miss Bennet. Mrs. Hill led him past the morning room, he peaked his head in as he past and saw two of the Miss Bennets, Jane, and Katherine he believed quietly embroidering together.

"No, Kitty," Jane spoke calmly, "Keep your stitches closer together, like this."

"Follow me please sir," Darcy realized that Mrs. Hill had reached the stairs without him and was waiting.

He smiled tightly at her.

The stairs were bowed in the middle and creaked under his boots. Mrs. Hill led him past the second floor, probably the family quarters he wagered, to the top and vastly smaller third floor. The ceiling was so low that he had to stoop. There were only two doors here, with the size of the Bennet family, it seemed as if the guests were housed in the attics. It was perverse in a way that the shell of his proper Aunt was now being kept in the dilapidated attics of a modest country home.

Mrs. Hill opened the door on the left, "Here you are sir."

The room was dark, the curtains closed tightly against the damp of the day. The smell of flowers overpowered. Curtains were pulled back from the bed and at the center laying on top of the counterpane was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, still and pale. Too late, he realized that the housekeeper had asked him a question, "Pardon?"

"Will _Sir_ like to have tea with the family?"

He blinked, "Yes of course." After a moment he added a belated, "Thank you."

She moved to the door, "When you are ready tea will be ready in the sitting room."

He hardly heard her as he took his first look at his Aunt. Her skin still palled, the areas around her eyes and mouth, usually pinched had softened. Too much like his mother's own death mask, he looked away to the window. The last Fitzwilliam female had gone. It was like losing his mother all over again. Grief effects individually, for Darcy, the sudden realization that he would never be able to see his Aunt again as she once was, hit him hard, like a mallet to the gut.

Without thinking, he found himself beginning to speak, "I wish I knew what brought you here Lady Catherine." And then a mutter to himself, "What is Bennet hiding?"

There was something going on here, something that Darcy could not even begin to guess at. Mr. Bennet was very good at evading his questions. He'd had the entirety of their conversation under his firm control. Darcy had not learned anything that Mr. Bennet did not mean for him to know.

And at the heart of the mystery was the unusual quiet of the Bennet home. Mr. Bennet's general confusing attitude, he could understand. He had never met the man, he could only guess how eccentric he was. But the rest of the house? He had never heard all of the Bennet women, or rather, experienced them being so quiet. Where was the usual screeching of Mrs. Bennet, or the inane giggling of Miss Kitty. The lack of Miss Lydia couldn't have changed the household that much. Surely not!

He watched the individual water droplets as they coursed down the window, gathered into a puddle to trail down the roof. The figure of a woman wearing a mustard colored pelisse arrested his eyes from following the path of that puddle. She walked haphazardly between the trees and through the muddied paths it hardly seemed she was aware of her progress. Her head was low, protecting herself from the rain falling from the heavens but he would know that figure anywhere. Elizabeth! How often had he studied her? According to Miss Bingley she was a great walker. Seeing her at Rosings always abroad in the lanes and meadows, he knew this to be true! But to walk in the rain in only a thin muslin dress was dangerous, even for one with such a strong constitution as hers.

He could not tear his eyes away. She strayed wide, never tiring, not once did she come even close to the house. She had a small clutch of late fall blooms in her hand and she was carefully picking the dead off of each. Did she know he was here? She must! What more of an answer did he need save the one staring him so blatantly in the face; she was avoiding him. She did not care for him.

He turned from the window, towards the quiet countenance of his aunt, wishing now for any kind of peace. He knew it would be nigh on impossible to face Elizabeth, but she hadn't even given him a chance. Long ago, he knew that he needed her like he needed air. He was suffocating.

"I wish things had been different Aunt," he managed to choke out, "Even now you would perhaps be greeting Elizabeth as my wife. Had it been different…"

He took one more look out the window, one last glimpse of Elizabeth before he turned resolutely towards the door, "Goodbye Aunt Catherine."

He found the entire family in the sitting room, save Elizabeth, "Ah Mr. Darcy, we are very sorry for your loss," Mrs. Bennet's voice was subdued.

It set Darcy off balance, his answer was awkward, "Thank you Mrs. Bennet. Thank you for being so welcoming. Even at this sad time…for m..me." He had not been so tongue-tied since his first society party. He heard Miss Katherine try to hold in a giggle.

Mrs. Bennet said not another word, simply poured him a cup of tea before turning to the others.

Darcy was seated closest to the fire, the place for a guest of honor, and its cracking heat warmed his body, but could not penetrate to his soul. He dared not test Mr. Bennet further by asking about the whereabouts of his second eldest.

After the requisite quarter of an hour spent in silence, and still no Elizabeth, nor any mention of even her name by any member of her family, Darcy made the most perfunctory of farewells and practically sprinted back to the safety of his carriage. He pulled the drapes closed and rubbed at his temples; that had been worse than even he imagined.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The Winter season was already proving to be a dreary and disappointing time for Mrs. Collins. When she had still been Miss Lucas, she had enjoyed the occasional sleigh ride through Hertfordshire, wassail beside the fire, and singing carols with her neighbors, especially Mr. Goulding whose deep baritone was so rich with feeling and emotion. But now that she was Mrs. Collins, she was finding it tiresome.

Springtime had kept her husband quite busy. Soon after they were married, and the newness of having her own home and comfortable situation had worn off, melancholy had been stayed for spring was the season when Mr. Collins had taken to working in his vegetable beds, preparing the soil and starting his seedlings. That had kept him suitably busy for hours.

In the summer, he had to attend to harvesting the fruits of his labours and weeding out the interlopers. This usually involved a daily trip to Rosings to hear about the correct way to pick vegetables and at least biweekly he had accepted the offer of a cup of tea. This could take the entire day, if Lady Catherine was feeling particularly benevolent in her verbiage.

Even autumn, when the plants were dying, there was much to attend to, pruning back his perennials, tearing out all of the annuals, and turning over the soil. It was the busiest she had ever seen her husband! And with the days shortening naturally there was hardly an evening that she had to spend in his company so tired he was from his travails!

But now it was winter-not even Michaelmas-and the rains and chill kept him inside. It wouldn't have bothered her if he had found a good tome to read. Or perhaps written a letter to one of his many claimed acquaintances. But no, he seemed determined to spend all of the Winter absconded in her parlor. No matter how many times she had gently reminded him that there was certainly parish work to be done, or a sermon for Sunday to be written, he would simply smile in that neglectful way of his and continue to sip his tea!

What was to be done? Charlotte's own tea had cooled as she tried to work around this dilemma.

Mr. Collins reached for the tea tray and selected a slice of lemon cake, lightly dusty with sugar and positively oozing sinfully-sweet goodness. It was the very last piece of lemon cake as well, and Charlotte's own favorite treat. Mr. Collins was fully aware of this.

He could hardly be otherwise. Great had been his strictures and complaints when Charlotte had first introduced it to the tea time routine. "But what would Lady Catherine have to say?"

It was the first, and not the last time, that Charlotte had wisely chosen to not hear. After one bite, his tune had changed, "Such flavor, such richness!"

Thankfully, and here her eyes rolled to the heavens, Mr. Collins had yet to accredit the discovery of her mother's own lemon cake to Lady Catherine's prowess. Yet, of course, Charlotte reminded herself.

She watched, scowling, as a particularly large crumb rolled off of her spouse's lips and landed on his lap. She knew it was wrong, having been raised piously and simply as the eldest of 9 children, but truly she coveted that single crumb, glistening with sugar in the candlelight! She could almost taste it.

She watched in horror as one of her husband's stubby fingers raised and brushed the crumb off his lap and onto the floor. The last piece of lemon cake pushed aside so unfeelingly! His fat tongue licked all of the sugar off of his fingers. Her small hands clenched into fists in her lap. Why did he have to ruin everything? Even her own tea time in her own sitting room.

She was breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring, and it wasn't the first time that Charlotte suspected that there must be something wrong with her; it could not just be the weather that was affecting her so adversely. She was rarely this irritated; usually she was so equable, so calm. But now? She longed to scream, to scratch, perhaps? Yes, perhaps to even hit something!

She had her suspicions as to her own condition, she couldn't truly be sure though. Not yet. It was certainly nothing she wanted to share with her husband. Not for a few weeks…or months at least. Surely there was no reason to tell him until the Spring?

She could only imagine what she would have to endure. The last thing she needed was an attentive and doting husband!

Mr. Collins usually unmitigated face suddenly perked up, like a hound on the scent of a fox, "A carriage. I'm sure I heard one." His tea cup clattered in his saucer as he nearly threw it to the table and hurried to peer through the curtains covering the window. Charlotte cringed at his sudden exuberance. "It is raining, but still, if there is a carriage," he stopped, his head cocked, "Well sprung by the sound of it, it must be for Rosings." His back crooked and his neck lengthened like a turtle's emerging from his shell, "As the rector of my Noble Patroness, I should welcome it."

Off he dashed, out of the room without even a by your leave for his wife. Charlotte almost reminded him to take his hat and coat. Almost.

She nearly sipped her temped tea, thought better of it and placed it delicately on her own side table. She smoothed out the dress over her knees, and shut her eyes. There would be no purpose to check the window and watch his progress. She learned that long ago. If it was a carriage for Rosings, she would hear off it later and in the minutest of details.

She heard a sudden crash of thunder, bit back a sudden treacherous thought, and then started as the front door banged open, and her husband's heavy footsteps strode in, "Charlotte? Charlotte!" She heard him stumble in his excitement, "Have a care Dossin, the cut of that coat was especially recommended by Lady Catherine herself!"

"Charlotte? It was…it was a crested carriage Charlotte! Only imagine who it could be. Lady Bleckley?" he asked himself, she was sure he was speaking to himself, for he hardly paused for an answer, "No hers does not have three stars positioned quite like these."

The door to her sitting room was mercifilly shut, and he passed by it, still muttering, "I must research," the bookroom door slammed behind him. That could take him the rest of the afternoon at least!

Charlotte was helping their cook Elsa boil a ham-hock to make some pork jelly for the poor of the parish, later that afternoon, when Mr. Collins suddenly burst into the kitchens. "The Earl," he was breathing substantially; he must have run all the way from his bookroom.

"Who m'dear?" Charlotte asked distractedly as she brushed a curl out of her eyes.

"The Earl of Matlock! With three stars and all the golden intersecting leaves. My noble patroness's brother has come to Rosings!" If he was expecting fanfare he was to be disappointed, Charlotte blinked once, and then turned back to her boiling pot. Behind her she could hear her husband hyperventilating. Best not to encourage him.

"I must pay a call," he started to move towards the door.

That did it, Charlotte whirled on him, moving quicker than she ever had, to block his exit. Surely such a social faux pas would never be forgiven. The Earl was even more powerful than his own sister, such influence at his disposal. If his disposition was anything like his sister's they were doomed! "M'dear surely it can wait at least until tomorrow when Lady Catherine has her morning in?"

Mr. Collins was already energetically shaking his head while trying to determine how exactly he was to extradite his wife from in front of the door, "As my Patroness' Reverend, I must pay my respects." His eyes were alight with the pleasure it would afford him to rub shoulders with such illustrious personages. What congratulations would flow in!

"Elsa will have supper soon," Charlotte was desperate now. What would become of them all if her husband remained defiant in his stupidity?

"Madam…" Elsa piped up, but Charlotte cut her off with a quelling look.

"You see Mr. Collins? You wouldn't want to miss our own modest repast," her eyes downcast, she hoped she exhibited all the signs of wifely piety.

"My love," Mr. Collins was at his most condescending, "A parson's duty is never complete. It is in your favor that you believe that our meal would be so attractive to me, but I have a duty to those who are our superiors. My own conscious demands it! I must condole with my patroness. And," his beady little eyes shown greedily, "Suppose that I were asked to dine at Rosings! Such an honor."

Charlotte stood agape, struck dumb, her mouth hanging low as her husband masterfully moved past her. There was little she could say to a speech so full of the obsequious and misplaced pride. Perhaps…perhaps Elizabeth had been right to question her move to accept such a man!

* * *

><p>At Rosings, Lady Matlock had accepted the formidable challenge of caring for the still disbelieving and now current lady of the household, "My mother dead in Hertfordshire?" Anne kept repeating in her thin voice, "Where is Hertfordshire?" It was all she would say as she sat stiffly on her cushion, a book forgotten in her lap.<p>

Lady Matlock squared her shoulders and summoned up Elvira Templeton-her younger self, ready and able to take on the ton, just after her debut into society some 35 years previous. _Then_ she had been a girl known for her sweetness, but also her unusual ability to twist any situation to her particular purposes. It was how she had, with an estate crumbling about her ears and no dowry to speak of, snared an Earl in her web, one of the richest peers in the kingdom. Anne small and so completely biddable would not present a problem for Elvira!

"Now dear, how about a few more crumpets, Cook said they were your favorite." If Mrs. Mewks was to be believed, Anne had eaten them by the dozen before her mother had restricted her diet to more insipid creations.

After a few pieces of the forbidden delicacy, Anne was practically purring. Lady Matlock played her first trump card, "Do you have any idea why your mother was in Hertfordshire, Anne?"

"Where is Hertfordshire?" Anne asked, before reaching for another crumpet and sulking upon seeing them all gone.

"Oh," Lady Matlock drawled, "I thought she had mentioned it before she left."

"My mother, dead in Hertfordshire?"

Lady Matlock refused to surrender; she had cracked harder nuts before, "Yes dear. How about a glass of claret, you have a great shock, poor love," she tutted while patting Anne's papery white hand. Anne sipped it obediently and Lady Matlock turned away, all the while out of the corner of her eye watching her shrewdly. When Anne had emptied the glass, and her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, Lady Matlock spoke again, "I'm surprised that Lady Catherine chose to travel at this time of year and to Hertfordshire of all places?"

Anne nodded then frowned, "Where is Hertfordshire?" Lady Matlock motioned to the footman to refill Anne's glass. Just as Anne took her first sip, a commotion at the door distracted Lady Matlock from her young conundrum.

A simpering and sniveling voice spoke, outraged, "But I am Lady de Bourgh's revered clergyman. You cannot turn me away." There was a short scuffle outside the sitting room, and then the door swung open.

"Mr. Collins."

Mr. Collins turned to the harassed footman who had just announced him and chastised, "No need to announce me, I am practically family." He strutted up to Lady Matlock like the noble crab he imagined himself to be, "Lady Matlock, I presume."

Lady Matlock summoned all of the hauteur at her disposal, which was considerable, "Sir, you are interfering in a family situation."

Mr. Collins only smiled smugly, "As I informed the footman, I flatter myself that Lady Catherine would consider my presence soothing during _any_ trying situation. I can be…"

Lady Matlock silence him with a wave, "Yes, yes! That will be quite enough of that. Lady Catherine is not here."

Mr. Collins was confused and it showed as his jaw slackened and his eyes crossed, "But I was informed that Lady de Bourgh was not accepting visitors." He shot a poisonous glare at the footman still attending, "Is she unwell? Perhaps I am needed to condole with her as her clergyman…"

"One again," Lady Matlock's voice was cold as ice, "I must remind you of your presence in a family situation, _Mr. Collins_." Lady Matlock motioned to the footman who opened the door.

Mr. Collins refused to take the hint, "Lead me to her," his stubbornness commanded.

"For the last time," Lady Matlock rose to her feet and stared down the clergyman, "Lady Catherine is not here."

"But the footman…"

"It must have been a mistake!" She looked towards the footman who had turned red realizing his verbal faux pas. "He was referring to Anne. Only MISS Anne is currently at home." Lady Matlock revealed through gritted teeth wondering how the footman could have made such an error.

"But Miss Anne without Lady Catherine..." a long moment passed and the strained pieces of Mr. Collins mind finally reassembled themselves into some semblance of explainable order. Mr. Collins turned pale, "Where is Lady Catherine?" His voice was very small and faint. He seemed to almost be fading away.

"Lady Catherine is dead," Lady Matlock stated, "As her clergyman I would appreciate it if…" But Mr. Collins did not hear her for he had fainted dead away.

"Well thank goodness for that." Lady Matlock turned back to her charge, "Now Anne," But Anne, the cup of claret hanging languidly and empty from her hand had passed out from her overindulgences.

Lady Matlock took a long moment, counted to ten in Latin, and then looked between the two ridiculous persons sharing the sitting room with her.

Finally, she made a decision, "Mr. Collins?" she called. His breathing remained rhythmic and shallow. She shied away from touching the greasy parson, "Mr. Collins!" She practically bellowed.  
>Lady Matlock had always been of a stout constitution. Even at her coming out ball when Caroline Lamb had appeared, scandalously clad in dampened petticoats. Even when that same lady had criticized Elvira for being fast, Lady Matlock had been able to retain her senses. She had never found a need for smelling salts or scented handkerchiefs. Until now. Frantically she searched the room for some type of aid, besides the befuddled footman.<p>

At the back of the sitting room near the windows and on a low pedestal was a vase filled with Queen Mary roses, Lady Catherine's favorite shade. Lady Matlock knew that what she was considering was probably reprehensible and would surely be frowned upon by her own parson, but she saw little alternative.

Marching to the floral arrangement, she flung the blooms to the floor and threw the entire contents of the vase into the parson's slumbering visage. Mr. Collins came upright, sputtering, "Madam, there is no need for that!"

"Never mind that," Lady Matlock used the same dismissive tone she typically saved for her servants, "Are you aware of Lady Catherine's movements during the last few days?" She was careful not to mention Lady Catherine's demise, hopeful that it would aid the clergyman in remaining lucid.

"Movements?" the parson asked abstractedly as he moped the water out of his face with a handkerchief. "I suppose Rosings has been rather quiet. I expected it was because of the weather."

"Lady Catherine has been traveling."

Mr. Collins was shaking his head forcefully, "Lady Catherine never travels at this time of year."

"Unfortunately, you are wrong. She did travel, to Hertfordshire."

Suddenly Mr. Collin's eyes grew wide as saucers, "Hertfordshire?"

Lady Matlock pounced, "Do you know it?" Mr. Collins face was turning puce.

"My Cousin, Mr. Bennet. But Lady Catherine…No, no, and no!" Mr. Collins was babbling, he seemed to have forgotten where he was.

Something inside Lady Matlock snapped, "Mr. Collins if you know anything regarding Lady Catherine's demise I suggest you speak now."

"Lady Catherine's demise?" Mr. Collins eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out once more.

Poor Lady Matlock! She quickly discovered that she was out of vases, and the footman was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As a point of interest, did anyone else know that the REAL Lady Fitzwilliam married to the 4th Earl of Fitzwilliam (who it is rumored JA based her literary Earl off of) was actually Aunt to the infamous Caroline Lamb? That Lady's controversial Ton sightings did not occur until well after JA's stories but I couldn't resist including her. How Darcy would have cringed at such a relation! <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Darcy was greeted with more fanfare on the occasion of his arrival than he had expected, or ever received. His family, while all somberly dressed in deep mourning black, accosted him immediately and collectively began vying for his rapidly displacing attentions. "Darcy, old man!" His cousin Andrew, "Come into the library for a fortifier."

"Fitzwilliam, were there any complications?" That was the Earl.

His aunt, the Lady Matlock seemed the most determined, even going so far as to tuck her arm through his, "Fitzwilliam, there is tea in the sitting room, your cousin Anne and I would very much like it if you came and had a cup."

A command. Darcy nodded to Andrew, shook his head in answer at the Earl and turned to his Aunt, "Lead the way Madam, I would love a cup."

The primary sitting room at Rosings had not changed since the spring, the heavy brocade curtains were drawn open to let in light and the gaudiness of the furniture was more apparent than ever. Now that Anne was the lady of the house, Darcy wondered if she would change things to be more suited to her taste, but he suspected that the specter of Lady Catherine would forever reign.

The new lady sat, still smothered and wrapped in lace, on the same cushion where she had always taken her tea, her companion Mrs. Jenkinson like a wart on her elbow.

"Hello Anne." She nodded and attempted a smile, a crooked affair, half her yellow teeth exposed.

Lady Matlock ignored her completely and seated herself far away from Lady Catherine's throne, indicating that Darcy do the same. At least they would have some sort of privacy in this half of the room.

Shooting a quick glance towards Anne whose face was once again blank and Mrs. Jenkinson who was once again fusing over her charge, Lady Matlock asked, "Did all go well in Hertfordshire?"

Darcy's intellect had always been shrewd and it perked at such a question, "The entirety of the journey was uneventful Aunt." It was almost the exact same answer he would have given a casual acquaintance. Lady Matlock's reaction to his words would be quite telling.

She pursed her lips; so she was after something! Like Andrew, he had long ago learned the subtle art of Aunt Irritation. It was a survival instinct, better to know exactly what they wanted before you betrayed yourself. Andrew by circumstances of his birth had a taxing battle-he had been blessed with the more volatile aunt.

If Darcy chose to feigned ignorance, pushed Lady Matlock to her limit, she would have no choice but to circumvent her society manners and tell him exactly what she wanted.

"You have been the Hertfordshire before, I believe," she tried a different tactic.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley chose to lease an estate and I accompanied him," he accepted a cup of tea from her and tried not to smile as her nose wrinkled.

"I believe I heard you speak of it?"

He nodded only and took a long sip of his tea—lip pursed and nose wrinkled together, he hid his smirk behind his tea cup.

"And was the society civil?"

He nodded again.

"Any principle land owners?"

"Neatherfield, the estate Mr. Bingley leased, is probably the most profitable, or it would be if he could do something with that west field." He distractedly looked for some mille feuille on the tea tray as he continued speaking, "I should speak to him about that. Perhaps he should look into animal husbandry, I have heard there is a new breed of sheep that might do quite well for him."

"Oh Fitzwilliam," her voice was shrill; "I want to know about the people, not sheep!" She slammed her hand down onto her knee, much like Lady Catherine had always done when she was irritated, "I am not amused!"

"That was a wonderfully accurate portrait, Aunt."

Lady Matlock shook her head and harrumphed, "You and Andrew with your ridiculous schemes."

She was on to him! Darcy bent just a little, "What is it you would like to know Aunt?"

"Why was Catherine in Hertfordshire firstly-the only thing I know of it is its nearness to London."

Darcy purposely narrowed his brow, "But Aunt Catherine has a house in London."

"Fitzwilliam," there was enough warning in her voice to suggest that he better not push her any further today. "Does Catherine have any acquaintance in Hertfordshire?"

"She knows one young lady, a cousin of her parson—Miss Elizabeth Bennet." His Aunt's face twisted into a grimace, "Ah, I see you have met Mr. Collins."

"Why would Catherine admit such a sycophant to her circle?"

Darcy snorted, "That is exactly why Lady Catherine kept him around."

Lady Matlock shut her eyes, "Has it been so long since I've seen Catherine? She wasn't always so coarse and egotistical."

It was a moment before either spoke again. Finally Lady Matlock questioned, "And this Miss Elizabeth Bennet, is she much like her cousin?"

Darcy felt his face reddening, Lady Matlock did not know Elizabeth, her question could be nothing but innocent. Still he could not have such a slur on Elizabeth's character! "Miss Elizabeth is a very intelligent, shrewd young woman."

Lady Matlock's eyes narrowed. "Put you in your place, did she?"

"On more than one occasion," he let a small smile slip at the memory.

Darcy had never spoken of any woman so passionately, except perhaps his sister who all the family knew he protected carefully. There was a story here, Lady Matlock realized. Yes, it would be wise to pursue this, but carefully. "And how did Lady Catherine meet such a woman?"

"Miss Bennet's friend married Mr. Collins this time last year."

"Another sycophant?"

"Mrs. Collins? No, she is quite sensible. I believe the move to marry the parson was almost mercenary in nature. Mrs. Collins-Miss Lucas as she was once known-is one of many children, much older than all the other young women of the village, poor and plain."

"So Lady Catherine visited Miss Lucas before the wedding?"

"No, Miss Bennet was invited here in the spring, Easter."

"And how did Lady Catherine like her?"

"About as much as she likes anyone who doesn't bow down before her."

"Then why would she visit her in Hertfordshire?"

"I don't not know."

"Surely, someone does," Lady Matlock pushed.

Darcy turned away from her, rising to his feet and walking to the window.

"Fitzwilliam?"

His voice when he finally spoke was strained with emotion, she suspected, "When I went to retrieve the body I asked Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth's father, what he knew of the affair. He admitted to knowing nothing."

"And what of Miss Elizabeth? When you questioned her, what did she have to say?"

"She was not present," he pressed his hand into the glass, feeling the cold already settling into his soul.

"Was she traveling? Seems an odd season for it."

"No, she would not see me."

Now that was interesting, "Why?"

"I prefer not to speak of it."

And there was the rub, "Fitzwilliam, we know so little about Catherine's last movements."

"It is not relevant, I promise you," he turned to face her, his face stubborn and set beneath heavy black brows.

"Oh but I believe it is relevant," like a cat she struck. "How do you know so much about a part of England that you yourself have admitted to being obscure and hardly mentionable?"

Fitzwilliam gobbled for a moment at such an abrupt subject change, hardly knowing what to answer.

"And why especially are you so defensive of a woman I have never heard of before today?" She had been paying closer attention than he had realized.

"There is little reason for you to have. She is not of our circle," he hissed, betraying himself in his anger.

Lady Matlock approached him at the window, her hand going for his arm, patting his wool coat, "Fitzwilliam, what does this woman mean to you?"

Such an innocent question but so much meaning behind it. How did he tell her that Elizabeth meant everything to him. That he was willing to brave his family's displeasure just to be with Elizabeth; that she was all he needed for complete happiness.

His face was telling, "You love her." She tried to keep the incredulousness out of her voice or she would lose his fragile trust.

He said nothing, his face twisted in agony before he focused on the floor.

Though Lady Matlock had not loved the Earl when she had married him, years of living and working together to make a home, had developed a kind of companionable love between the two. Some things would have been harder, she knew, had there been the love, the passionate, deep kind that Fitzwilliam was speaking of. But she realized as well that many things would have been easier with love.

"Lord Matlock was correct," she spoke ruefully, "You will not marry Anne."

Darcy half chuckled, "No. We spoke of it long ago and I think he is finally resigned to it. The only one I think who still believed such a falsehood was Lady Catherine."

"Well now that she is gone, I think you will be free to marry your Miss Bennet."

"Miss Bennet will never marry me."

"A Darcy of Pemberley?" Lady Matlock was dubious; he was one of the biggest fishes on the market! If she'd had a daughter perhaps she would have vied for the position as his mother in law.

"It all means nothing to her. She rejected the man."

"Fitzwilliam, I don't think I understand."

"I was hardly civil to her. There is no doubt that she did not recognize me as a suitor because of that. By her own admission she had little reason to respect me, love me."

Lady Matlock recognized where he had learned such tactics. She had often chosen to be the polar opposite of Lady Catherine, hoping to teach her sons and Darcy, that there were other ways of moving among people rather than that Lady's and occasionally the Earl's high-handed ways. Initially it was a hard role for her because Elvira Templeton was anything but charitable, but after the France Terror, she realized how important it was to be caring and considerate to _every_ person regardless of their position in life. And with practice, eventually it became who Lady Matlock was. As such, she was a bit incensed at her nephew. "Fitzwilliam Darcy, have you learned nothing?"

"I know. It is a poor excuse, but she is not of our circle. I saw her, I wanted her. I knew how eligible I am, it would be hard not to know, not to hear the whispers over the years. Family, money, lands. Elizabeth…Miss Bennet taught me how little those things matter when a man's character is wanting."

"You proposed?"

"I was the last man she would ever marry."

That he would propose and receive a negative answer was hard to swallow, but Lady Matlock could not turn away now, "And you are still in love with her?"

"It matters little, she will never be mine."

"She must see you for the kind caring gentleman I know you can be, have been."

"I have tried to better myself, tried to be open with her, for I saw finally what she had, that I was wanting." Lady Matlock felt his pain, she knew the Darcy pride, his inherent shyness, she knew how difficult such an action as opening himself up-letting his character lie bare-would be for him. Yet, he had done it for a woman. "She saw it all, and yet she avoided me when I called at her house. She stayed out in the rain rather than take tea with me."

Lady Matlock reached up to touch his face trying to smooth away the sadness, "Then she does not deserve you."

"No, she deserves someone entirely better."

"There is no one else?" How she wished there was someone else who could take away his pain, absorb it like a sponge!

"No, nor will there be. I am nearly 30 years of age, most of my contemporaries are already wedded and setting up their nurseries. Even Bingley who is 4 years my junior."

"You still have time," Lady Matlock pleaded.

"No, I have never seen such a woman, never felt this way before. And this is after spending months trying to forget her."

She looked at him hard, saw the determination on his face hidden behind the hopelessness.

"Then you must have her." Lady Matlock straightened.

"I will not force the point."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy as if that was what I was suggesting. Shame! No," she shook her head, "I do not believe that this woman is entirely indifferent to you. If she was, she would have been able to greet you for tea with equanimity." His jaw dropped open, obviously he had not considered that. Such was a man! "If all that you say is true, than you deserve her, for I know you and your goodness. You must try again. You must convince her of this!"

"But I…" Whatever he was going to say was swallowed up by Anne who suddenly appeared between the two.

"Cousin, where is my mother's cane?"

"Beg pardon, Anne, what cane?" asked Lady Matlock.

"My mother's cane, she never forgot to take it with her when she went traveling, it is engraved, 4 large rubies at the head, where is it!" She was working herself up into a temper, a rarity for her but still very dangerous for someone so frail.

"I don't remember there being a cane among her possessions," Darcy tried to placate.

Anne stamped her little foot, "It is not here!" Her small chest was rising and falling with great velocity, "I want it back! It is rightfully mine, I must have it! You!" She pointed a straight finger towards Darcy, "This is your fault, you must get it for me."

Thankfully at that moment, the door opened to admit Colonel Andrew Fitzwilliam and the Earl. Anne was on the brink of a major explosion, one that would probably injure her irrevocably. Like her mother she did not react well to negative news.

Lady Matlock snuck behind her husband to sidle up beside Darcy, "Perhaps there is a reason to go back to Hertfordshire after all?" she whispered in his ear, "Do not pass up what could be an act of providence."

"Darcy," Andrew clapped him on the back again, "We need to speak of the funeral arrangements with Pater."

"Son, I have continually asked you not to call me that!"

Whatever was waiting for Darcy in Hertfordshire, it would have to keep waiting.

* * *

><p>After the funeral, the men of the family joined with the ladies for an early morning brunch with the chiefest of the mourners. Lady Bleckley, Lady Metcalf and the Webbs sat among them sharing remembrances of Lady Catherine and being most solemn. The family kept to themselves at a small distance and tried not to smirk at some of the more outrageous tales of Lady Catherine's "generosity." Lady Catherine had been many different things to them all, but collectively, she was a large presence in all their lives.<p>

A small murmur rose up from near the door as the parson Mr. Collins and his wife entered the sitting room, both dressed in the deepest of blacks. _She _was already red with embarrassment at causing a commotion, her eyes adverted. As for him, he entered the room with all the gathered pomp and circumstance he could muster, bowing and nodding to all the persons watching him in disbelief, for he had not been invited to dine.

"Lady Bleckley, so good of you to come," he simpered, "Lady Catherine would be grateful for you presence at such a sad time."

Darcy snorted and turned to look immediately towards the Earl whose face had purpled frequently during the parson's unexpected and impromptu eulogy. It had been long winded and entirely inappropriate. The Earl's face was currently alternating between disbelief at such a speech and abhorrence of such a dribbling idiot.

"Mr. Collins, tea?" She was entirely cordial but Darcy could sense the impatience in his Aunt Matlock.

"Yes, thank you….as I was saying Lady Bleckley…"

"Lemon, Mr. Collins?"

"Oh yes. Thank you…." He turned once more to Lady Bleckley who was smiling absently at him, "Lady Catherine was such a wonderful woman, such a scion of our society. I do not know how we can continue without her. We must pray for her wisdom in all things."

It was difficult to pinpoint later what exactly happened at that moment, for several things occurred at once. The sound of tearing cloth, a shriek, a suppressed cough, and a suddenly indignant Mr. Collins hopping up and down and batting at his lap which looked like it had recently received a bath from a very warm cup of tea.

"Madam, look where you are going!" he snarled at his wife.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Mrs. Collins was all things contrite save the small martial look in her eye. Dressed as she was the poor lady looked the part of the drab crow. Darcy wondered if Mr. Collins had forced her into mourning clothes for his "illustrious patroness."

"Why could you not be more careful!"

Mrs. Collins wisely chose not to hear that barb, "M'dear, the tea is soaking into the fabric, perhaps we should withdraw."

"No, I will not withdraw! You have never spilt anything before, not to mention on my person. How at such a moment did this happen? I am appalled!"

Poor Mrs. Collins could not ignore such a blatant attack, she turned white, her jaw clenching as she prepared for combat.

"Sir, surely there is no need to," Andrew broke in.

Mr. Collins rounded on him, forgetting himself in his anger, "I can control my own wife!"

"Control," the Earl immediately thundered pushing his son away with his angry shaking countenance at such egoism, "Control? A wise man knows that he can never control his wife."

"No my Lord," Mr. Collins sniveled almost prostrate on the floor as he bowed low, "But as the head of the household, a man…" he tried again.

But the Earl would have none of that. He'd had enough of the ridiculous parson, "No Mr. Collins." He bit out, "The man is never the head of the household. Perhaps you are the head of your bookroom, maybe your own chamber, but not the household." Lord Matlock looked Mr. Collins up and down condescendingly, "Certainly not of the kitchens. We men enjoy a good meal," he suddenly smiled like a snake cornering his prey.

"Yes," Mr. Collins spoke proudly, "My cook is wonderful, nothing to Rosings, but still…"

The Earl cut him off again, "By the looks of it I can see that you enjoy what comes from your kitchens very much. Do you know who controls the kitchens Mr. Collins?"

"Well Charlotte," he indicated his wife, "Has always been most…"

"Yes, it is your wife." The Earl moved forward, nose to nose with the parson, "I suggest you and your stomach rethink who reigns in your household." He nodded to the door once the parson had turned a sufficient shade of green, finally understanding the full meaning of the Earl's words, "Good day Mr. Collins," he dismissed.

"That man is a bloody fool," he said once Mr. Collins had allowed his wife to lead him away.

"Timothy!" Lady Matlock berated, "Language."

"I'm sorry Elvira, But you've said it yourself."

Lady Matlock immediately looked around at the scandalized faces of the company all watching her avidly, "Mrs. Jenkinson, shall we have some music?" Mrs. Jenkinson bobbed a curtsey and headed towards the piano to play a mournful Bach tune.

"Yes, I said it," Lady Matlock spoke under the music as she dragged Lord Matlock to a distant sofa, "You didn't have to announce it to the room." The look of penance on his face softened her, "Besides, I don't think you would ever pass up an opportunity to enjoy the delights of our own cook either."

"Yes Elvira, but at least I know who leads our cook."

Lady Matlock smiled, for it had not always been so; but with time the Earl had learned to appreciate and revere his wife for her role in his household.

"Lady Catherine picked such a man as her parson," the Earl shook his head in bewilderment.

"The question is," Andrew suddenly joined them, "What is to be done with him?" His parents looked at him questioningly, "Anne does not like him. Since Darcy has promised to return to Hertfordshire and fetch her mother's cane, she has begun to speak of other things. Predominately, Mr. Collins."

"Send him away," the Earl commanded.

"Timothy, you cannot turn him away," Lady Matlock gently chided.

"Why forever not? He is not fit to be a parson, why this sudden burst of Christian charity for a sniveling little insect that has so little of it himself."

"Mrs. Collins is increasing."

"She told you?"

Lady Matlock masterfully avoided rolling her eyes at her youngest son, "A woman notices these things."

Darcy watched the Matlocks speaking from across the room. Extraditing himself from Mrs. Webb's matchmaking talons for apparently she had an elder daughter who was _very_ accomplished, he approached the trio in time to hear the news of Mrs. Collins. "You cannot send a man and his wife away in such a situation."

"Fitzwilliam, you've seen the books for Rosings, you've tried to manage Catherine for years, we need a parson here who would be willing to help, not a man who will continue touting Catherine's doctrine as if it came from the Almighty himself," Andrew reproved.

"Son, that is enough! Catherine might have flaws, but she was your Aunt," the Earl reminded.

Andrew pursed his lips, doing a wonderful impression of his mother when irritated, "Yes, sir."

"Perhaps another situation can be found?" Darcy suggested.

"Foist him on one of us?" The Earl demanded, "I think not."

Andrew suddenly snapped his fingers, "I've got it! Father you remember that decaying church near Bath that I was telling you about?"

"Andrew I fail to see how this is relevant."

Andrew held up a hand, "Just listen for a moment," The Earl began reddening at such impertinence, the well placed hand of his wife on his arm subdued him, "So many people were coming to look at it-ruins are all the rage these days you know-the landowner was getting annoyed with all of the more tenacious visitors that sought him out to question him about the history and so on and so forth. He hired a caretaker to answer all the questions for him, built him a little cottage and gives him a rather generous annuity."

"And you are suggesting this for Mr. Collins? The man is a…"

Andrew cut his father off again, "I'm not suggesting a chapel that is frequented by any means. Surely there is one, probably on our own extensive lands that would do, far away from everything. As a man of the cloth, he could preside over the ruined chapel with no possibilities for influencing the parishioners, because there wouldn't be any. He could do little damage in such a situation."

"And say a visitor does come?" Darcy thought it was a brilliant idea, but he wanted to make sure all of the wrinkles were worked out first.

"They are treated to half an hour of stupidity and false piety, they never return, and most importantly they don't recommend it to their friends," Andrew grinned at his family.

"And Mrs. Collins," Lady Matlock asked, "She cannot be shut away from all her friends and family!"

"I believe there could be a situation found in a small hamlet somewhere that she could be satisfied with," Darcy tapped his chin, "She was raised in a small town, perhaps a limited society would be welcome."

"And best of all, Mr. Collins would have you to thank for it, Father. He would be happy as a clam with his "patron the Earl," and if he was far enough from our principle holdings, you would never have to hear of it."

The Earl barked a laugh, "If you can manage Rosings as well as Mr. Collins, I believe you will be a success, Andrew."

Manage Rosings! This was the first that Darcy had heard of it. For years, he had been the preferred nephew to aid Lady Catherine, designed to be the future spouse of Anne and the future landlord. Andrew had barely paid attention to any of the business of the estate when they had visited yearly, "Uncle, I had planned to stay on and care for Rosings until a suitable steward can be found."

The Earl waved it away, "Andrew and I will have it in hand. You must be for Hertfordshire to retrieve Lady Catherine's cane." It was a weak excuse; it seemed as if the Earl was trying to get rid of him.

"Are you certain?"

"Andrew will do very well here," The Earl looked at his son before shooting a significant glance at Anne who was nodding at something Lady Metcalf had just said to her.

Darcy looked between his two cousins, so that was his game! The Earl not content to lose Rosings as a part of the family coffers had- after Darcy's defection-chosen to foist his own son into the runnings as the head suitor for Anne's generous dowry. Darcy looked at Andrew again who shot him a noteworthy look before shrugging his shoulders lightly.

If Andrew was content, there was little cause to argue, "Then I will be to Hertfordshire."

His Aunt smiled softly at him, "I know you will find what you are looking for, Fitzwilliam."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The cane in question was sitting rather innocently in the umbrella stand of the Bennet's foyer. It had endured quite the adventure before it had arrived in its current resting place.

Home at Rosings it spent its idle time resting atop an antique dressing table. The very dressing table gifted to Lady Catherine de Bourgh by her father, the late Earl of Matlock.

Once a week, every Thursday, it would be lovingly brushed with oil polish by Lady Catherine's head butler. And of course-anytime Lady Catherine left the house, and frequently when she had her mornings in-it would be gripped in that regal hand while the Great Lady dictated to her subjects.

The cane preferred that kind of living, filled with routine and the more noble of acquaintances. This last week, plainly speaking, had been a severe blow to its ego!

Initially it had been honored that Lady Catherine had carried it across the country in her well-sprung coach, but then something must have happened for it had suddenly been let go by that regal hand and allowed to fall onto an abused and little cared for garden path. Certainly there would be scuff marks. It lay there for a time, contemplating its new scars before deciding that the head butler-whose name little mattered to the cane-would buff them out.

But time had passed and neither Lady Catherine nor the head butler had picked the cane up. Nor had any care been taken to shield the cane from the rain as it poured from the heavens soaking the cane and giving it a muddy sheen. The sky had darkened and still the cane had remained. It began to fear that it had been completely forgotten when footsteps suddenly rumbled on the path.

Lady Catherine had surely come back for it!

But it was the calloused and thick hand of a servant that eventually grasped the cane halfway down the shaft and lumbered with it inside to deposit it in its current location between a bent umbrella and a dusty lady's reticule.

How humiliating.

And still the cane sat where it was as the night turned into day and back again. Another gloomy day dawned and the cane was almost resigning itself to its future existence, though it still staunchly reminded itself to ignoring its neighbors. Then, the light slippered foot of a female made its way towards it.

Rescue at last!

The cane was jostled slightly, closer to the newer umbrellas, _thank the heavens,_ and then a hand lifted it. A soft feminine hand. Not Lady Catherine's; it was the hand of a young lady. A gasp of surprise as the cane was raised closer to sparkling green eyes.

The cane was carried almost reverently-at least someone appreciated it—across the floor down a dismal corridor probably full of termites just waiting to descend on the cane's fine mahogany. If the cane could have shuddered it would have.

A door opened, the lady spoke, "Father, I was going to run down the lane to visit Mariah Lucas when I saw this. It's not yours is it?"

It was probably one of the longest speeches Mr. Bennet had ever heard from his second youngest.

"Catherine?" he took off his spectacles, wiped them and set them back on his nose, yes is was she.

And she was beginning to frown at him, "Father, it is Kitty!"

"Kitty," his tone hinted at his annoyance, "I had not expected you up so early. You said you found a cane?"

Kitty held it up almost to her nose, the poor thing was dreadfully nearsighted but refused to admit it, "It has red stones on it. Do you think they could be real?"

Mr. Bennet looked at the cane for a long moment, "Yes, I do believe they are real red stones," he finally quipped.

To her credit, Kitty only rolled her eyes at her father's odd humor, "I meant you know, like diamonds. Rubies! They are called rubies, aren't they?"

"No, no my child," Mr. Bennet shook his head mockingly; "Diamonds are not called rubies."

"Father!" Kitty lost her temper and stamped her little foot, "Is it your cane or not?"

"No," Mr. Bennet finally admitted. If only she had more of a sense of humor like his Lizzy! "It is not my cane. And I seriously doubt that those stones are rubies," he added more sternly.

"But…"

"Give it to me, child," he commanded. "Now be off with you," he rose to his feet and nearly pushed her out the door, ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes at being so unceremoniously dismissed. "Give my compliments to Sir William," he thought to add as he shut the door in her face. "That's a good girl," he muttered to himself.

He turned to the cane, leaning innocently against his desk. He looked at the stones closely, sharp crisp edges, free from scratches, the color was right as well. Yes Kitty had been correct, the stones were indeed real rubies. But where could Kitty have gotten it from? She must have found it from somewhere around the estate, he decided, for Kitty would not have brought it to him to inquire if it was his if this was not so.

The small head, the delicate carving throughout the mahogany spoke of its probable owner—a woman. His first guess-and the cane would have been incensed at this had it known-was not Lady Catherine.

Mrs. Goulding; the wife of a wealthy merchant, she had been to visit the estate the previous afternoon. Perhaps it was hers. He thought on this for a moment then brushed it aside. Nay, Mrs. Goulding, perpetually addicted to youthful serums would never be seen wielding a cane!

Certainly not Mrs. Phillips, though she was known to be quite fond of a walking stick! His brother Phillip could never afford such an accessory. It must be at least a thousand pounds!

Mr. Bennet could not have been more wrong.

The original carver had been Jambo, the great master of Middle Persia. That alone would have raised the price of the cane exponentially. It had been accomplished as a special undertaking for his good friend the Third Sheik of the highest house. His oldest daughter, an invalid, was to have a birthday. The Sheik cared little for her, but her beautiful and otherwise barren mother had always been his favorite wife.

Jambo had carved the mahogany carefully, paying special attention to the head, keeping it slight and small. The girl had treasured it, the only gift she would ever receive from her father.

The next year when the kingdom had been usurped and the family taken prisoner, the cane had faded into obscurity for a time. Sands of the desert had beat against it, but the carefully sealed mahogany had remained strong.

A western archeologist, known more for his luck than his skill, found the cane while poking through the palace remains of the long dead Sheik. He recognized its value at once.

Taking the cane with him to England, he had met with one of his investors at the docks, Lewis de Bourgh. The knight's interest in the cane was evident, and he eagerly purchased the cane from the archeologist for the modest sum of 5,000 pounds.

Lady Catherine had, by the strictness of her tenacity been the only person to outlive it's curse by 20 years at least, for just like its original owner, Sir Lewis died just one year after purchasing it from a rare and little known throat disease. He did enjoy his cigarillos.

Little could Miss Anne de Bourgh know what she was fighting against in her greed to have the dreaded cane back in her possession! And if she did think on it, perhaps she only spared it a moment's contemplation before her mind turned to more trivial matters.

Mr. Bennet eyed the cane, still sitting on top of his desk. Whom could the owner be?

The dead lady in the flowerbeds! Yes; suddenly it occurred to him that it must be hers indeed. Her clothing had been regal enough. But what had been that great lady's name? He idly taped his fingers against his desktop. Blast it! He could not remember.

He rubbed at his temples before snapping his fingers. Elizabeth would know! Just as he considered calling her to his bookroom, he remembered that he hadn't seen much of her around Longbourn recently. She had been passing her time hidden away somewhere.

Mr. Bennet realized with some chagrin that he had not seen her taking meals with the family as of late either. No one else seemed concerned about it; surely he would have heard his wife's infamous nerves resounding through the walls of his home if this was not so. He supposed he should search for her. But knowing his Lizzy as he did, if she did not want to be found there was little he could do about it.

Perhaps he could catch her before she retired to bed. But lately, he had discovered that his body was not what it once was, he grew weary much earlier now. He would probably be asleep before she considered emerging from her hiding place. Ah well, he selected a well-read tome from his shelf, there was nothing for it then.

* * *

><p>Miss Elizabeth Bennet, contrary to the opinion of her father was not hiding. No indeed! Instead, she spent the entirety of her days and a goodly portion of her evenings near the outside hedge groves of Longbourn looking for the elusive pink creeping primrose.<p>

Nevermind that they had all gone before the first leaves of autumn had begun to fall! No, she was quite determined to find them. Once pressed they would make a lovely addition to her sister Jane's collection; and if she could harvest some seeds, why then her beloved sister could have the blossoms with her always at Neatherfield.

Elizabeth was not built for unhappiness, and it had become quite apparent to her that it was better to find some type of useful occupation for herself than sitting around Longbourn, enduring the stares of her neighbors. For while her mother dared not breathe a word of the dead Lady in the flowerbeds, she couldn't help but publically scorn and sneer at her daughter whenever company was present. And though no explanation for the further lowering of Elizabeth in her opinions was ever forthcoming, Longbourn's callers were not so inept at picking up and sharing in its mistresses attitudes. Jane tried her best, but there was little to be done to curb their mother's tongue.

Once Mrs. Bennet in the privacy of her own boudoir made the connection between Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy, and then proceeded to broadcast it loudly throughout the house, Elizabeth had finally surrendered and fled the scene. That no one save those "keepers of the secret" could understand Mrs. Bennet's babblings did not occur to the unfortunate girl. Unhappy, miserable really, was our heroine's attitude that first solitary eve a she wandered.

Outside she could breathe, free from her mother's sneers, Jane's pity, Kitty's cough and the constant platitudes from ever austere Mary. Never before had Longbourn seemed so less like a home to her! Life had changed for her after Lydia's moral defection: It had been completely destroyed after the death of Lady Catherine at Elizabeth's figurative hand. It was too stagnant, too confining. It was something she would rather not fathom, and so she escaped to the familiarity of Longbourn Park, hoping in nature that her misery would be forgotten. Away from it all, discovering purpose in searching for the pink creeping primrose, she had finally begun to find peace.

She checked the watch at her waist, the morning meal had already been completed, there was little reason to return now!

She wandered between the great midland hawthorns of the forest in-between Longbourn and Lucas Lodge, never straying too near the boundaries of the Lodge, knowing that John Lucas the eldest son and heir would be traversing over the land once more before the winter fully descended. Like Charlotte he possessed good sense, Lucas Lodge would thrive under his full leadership. But John Lucas, now a man, was said to be looking for a wife and she had noticed the way he had been eying her family pew at church. She would not encourage him by being caught on his land seemingly by design.

Far too soon the evening descended and the cold came, seeping into her pelisse and freezing her from the inside out. She must return home. If she went through the kitchens as had been her habit as of late, she could escape up the servant's stairs without encountering any of her family.

Cook would be busy, she would seemingly take no notice of the young miss for she had never before, yet there would be a small plate of biscuits set aside for Elizabeth beside the stairs.

The front of the estate was hardly lit; the family would be gathered together in the west sitting room by now. At the back, Longbourn was alive, the servants cleaning and preparing the home for sleep. Elizabeth snuck into the kitchens, avoiding cook as she scolded the scullery maid, and headed quietly for the stairs, not forgetting to pocket the few biscuits left out on a plate for her. She avoided the third stair up where it creaked, and finally with sweet relief, she reached her room quite alone and unabused.

In sleep she was fully free, she was no longer Elizabeth Bennet, but something very different, living a life of sweet reveries. And if Mr. Darcy was the cause of those revels, she would never admit to it.

The dream surprised her as it always did, coming upon her unexpectantly as she floated in the bright colors of her own personal dreamland. The light blended into flowers and formed itself into trees, creating a garden beside a bubbling stream. Everywhere there were roses, fully in bloom, the smells glorious. Her hands sat in her lap on top of an abandoned book, one she both instinctively knew she hadn't read, but was still likewise a favorite. She was waiting for something to occur. For someone to arrive perhaps.

She allowed the petals of a rose to tenderly tickle her face and soon, the booted steps of a man approached from the west. She turned. It was Mr. Darcy and he carried a small bundle in his arms.

"Hello my love," his voice was a deep caress. He smiled at her softly, in a way she knew was only reserved for her. "I'm afraid our son did not want to be parted from his mother."

Carefully he handed the bundle over, eagerly she reached for it, but just as the soft blanket touched her fingertips, her eyelids flew open, the dawn light already pouring in her window.

She closed her eyes, wishing herself back asleep, for never had she touched the baby, never had she seen its face or smelled of its sweetness! She yearned for it.

Always Mr. Darcy held out the bundle, always saying the same words. It was an impossible dream. Her subconscious teasing her, laughing at her. For years her and her father had done the same towards the weakest of their neighbors, somehow it was fitting that she was now the source of the humor. She must escape this room where everything had once again been taken away from her.

She hurried into her pelisse and shawl, leaving her hair still hanging in its nighttime braid. Her sturdiest boots on her feet, she did not walk towards Meryton and she did not walk towards Lucas Lodge. Instead she passed by the tenant farms of Neatherfield, needing to feel the closeness of the empty estate that had been _his_ home for a short while.

She stayed to one side of the path, deep in the brush, away from the road and the farmer's carriages. It was dangerous for her to be out so early, she knew this, yet every morning she could not resist the escape.

Coming upon the open untilled west field near Neatherfield Manor she was disappointed to see the high moisture table and knew she could not cross. Nor was she willing to turn back at this juncture. She looked off a quarter of a mile to her right where the road sat innocent and seemingly quiet. Perhaps she could cross?

She found herself rushing towards it, little minding the damp grass whipping up against her legs. Reaching the road, she looked right and left, off in the distance the ground rumbled. Not a cart but a horse, and fast approaching.

Darting across the road to the safety of the trees she did not notice her shawl catch on a bramble, get tangled and left behind. She hid herself as best as she could behind a tree closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She prayed whoever it was would pass her by.

The hoofs grew louder, pounding in her ears, matching her rapid heartbeat. Louder, louder! Then sudden stillness. She shrunk back, making herself as small as she could.

A dismount; heavy boots plodding along. She went to draw her shawl more tightly around her, but alas! It was gone. That is why the owner of the boots had stopped. They must have seen the shawl. She craned her neck, seeing the shawl hanging innocently from a blackberry's thorny stem.

And approaching it-buckskin pants and black hessians. A gentleman! A hand reached out to grasp at the shawl, feeling the fibers between long fingers. She still could not see the face of the man in the boots, obscured by the deep shade under the Wych Elm and a tall beaver hat.

Let it be Mr. Bingley, Raymond Goulding, she would even settle for John Lucas. Anyone but he!

There was a long pause, neither moved, and Elizabeth felt her heart lodge in her throat.

A voice, "Miss Bennet?" _His _voice, she was certain. It was impossible for him to know it was she! She stayed very still hoping he wouldn't realize how close she was and just go away again.

"Miss Bennet, I know you are there, I can see your tan pelisse through the trees."

If only she had worn a grey one instead, it would have melded better with the surrounding landscape! Begrudgingly she emerged, trying to maintain her dignity, but not daring to look him in the face. He was probably in a hurry, she could just take her shawl and then he would leave her alone again. He stood facing her, the shawl in his arms very much like the bundle in her dream.

If she would have looked up, she might have seen the look of tenderness in his eyes and how he quickly tried to hide the disappointment at her avoidance. When she finally did chance a peak, his face was forbidding in its blankness.

She held back a shudder and adroitly pinched herself. No, she was not asleep, he was really here. How he must despise her; his eyes black as ink, his brow creased. She remembered how he looked in her dream, tender and loving as he held their son. No, this was not a dream, this was a nightmare!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Darcy did not sleep well-not anymore-often the pillow was never quite soft enough and the blankets cooled or heated him to uncomfortable levels. Truly, he had not slept well since he first had the opportunity to gaze into the intelligent and beautiful eyes of Elizabeth Bennet. Frequently the morning would greet him-a tangle of sheets, still remembering the moment when it had all changed.

_That fateful evening the Neatherfield party was to dine out. The Gouldings of Pruvis Lodge had not wasted the opportunity to invite them to a dinner held in their honor. Though they smelled of the shop, Bingley had eagerly accepted before either his snobbish sisters or his friend could object. _

_The Goulding's cook prepared a lavish meal, by their standards, with both a fish and venison course; though it was nothing to the food offered by Andre, the chef at his London townhouse. Granted, he had attended the dinner with little expectations, but the venom from Miss Bingley conveniently placed at his elbow had gradually blackened his brow, his mouth growing thin and forbidding. _

_By dessert he had little appetite. He did not miss the look that Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley shared as he poked at his pudding-they had hardly dined at all that evening thought their appetite was healthy enough at Neatherfield. Neither lady could be aware of the true loss of his appetite._

_After dinner, Mr. Goulding led the men away and Darcy had finally breathed easy, his face clearing. For at least a moment he could be free from Miss Bingley and her heady perfume and pithy opinions. Mr. Goulding's study was dark and masculine with comfortable sofas and a full complement of spirits, it was clear that _this_ was his haven. The port and brandy was passed, few took of it liberally, most like Darcy, partook slowly, tasting the liquor on their tongue, enjoying the individual flavors, rejoicing in the familiar burn at the back of the throat. _

_The candles had barely burned down at all before Bingley was subtly suggesting his desire to return to the drawing room, back to his newest angel. Until that point, Darcy had spared little thought for Bingley's Miss Bennet and even less for the other four younger girls and their gregarious mother. He knew Bingley's feelings, he also knew how fleeting Bingley's passions for the opposite sex could be. It could safely be predicted that Bingley would not remain enraptured for was little in the drawing room for Darcy, and he ambled back towards the feminine domain slowly, looking at the amateur paintings on the wall. _

_He was surprised thusly then to be drawn to the rich laughter coming from a window seat in the corner, a woman's laughter. Truthfully, it stunned him and instinctively he turned towards it. So rarely had he heard such a pure sound of merriment and enjoyment, entirely freed from the sarcastic wit of the Ton that he had little will to oppose his curiosity._

_Sitting in ivory, beside the plain Miss Lucas was the second Miss Bennet, her head thrown back in glee, her neck elongated. He remembered declaring her barely tolerable. She was anything but tolerable the moment she turned to him as if called; one eyebrow raised temptingly. All of her features accosted him at once. He would think later that there were imperfections but at that very moment he was struck by the clearness of her skin, the pink of her cheeks, the fullness of her rosy lips. And when he looked in her eyes, he was bewitched. She was absolutely beautiful. The green of open pasture, clear as a summer's day, hot as the firelight dancing in them and an intelligence he had never encountered in a female before. He remembered little else of the evening past the sighting of those eyes._

_When he had arrived back at Neatherfield he had absently attended to his hosts before claiming fatigue and retiring to his room. There it was quiet, and he was with the best company he could find in all of Meryton, namely himself. But thoughts naturally interfered and he could not forget the second Miss Bennet. As he untied his cravat and rubbed at his throat remembering her own ivory throat as she laughed. The softness of her cheeks, the plumpness of her lips, never touched by a man. How he wished to be that man! _

_He had never thought so much of a woman before, particularly one he had so little contact with. He could not seem to forget her. He tried on subsequent occasions to remember her imperfect form. Wide lips were not in vogue, nor was that particular color of hair. She did not dress fashionably and her skin was rather too brown for the critiques of the ton. Just as he passed his judgment, those eyes would invade and he would forget all rational thought. The more he returned to those eyes the more captivated he became. _

_And it had only worsened as he had gotten to know her more, gotten to hear her speak, gotten a glimpse of the intelligence hidden beneath the façade of a poor country miss. It was as if every sinew of her was designed to attract him. The temptress, surely she had been expecting his devotion, his proposals. _

She had not. And now all of his thoughts of her still haunted him, particularly the hatred he had finally seen in her eyes as she had avowed him as the "last man she would ever marry." She had not been expecting his proposals, or even desiring them.

The thought struck him that he was the worst kind of hypocrite. He had saved his greatest friend from supposed indifference in marriage to the Miss Jane Bennet, while he had traveled the same path, little knowing, little caring for Miss Elizabeth's feelings for himself. His pride had deceived him, but even if it hadn't, he knew deep down, he wouldn't have cared what she truly thought of him.

Blearily, he mounted his horse, nodded to the stable boy and rode off into the morning dew, much earlier than he had planned, but as always the memories of his encounters with Elizabeth had not allowed him sufficient rest. The maids at the inn would share a hearty giggle over his twisted sheets and pounded pillows.

A bruising ride should dull the agony of one more eve spent without Elizabeth in his bed. He started his horse off slow with a gentle canter, determined to test the stiffness of Apollo's legs. Apollo, Darcy's horse for already several years had aged must faster than his master, and thought the Horseman's Groom boasted clean beds, they did not have a stable master. Apollo would not have received the care he was used to. It was Darcy's error, he knew, leaving Rosings late in the afternoon after partaking of the midday meal with his family. Apollo would have done better taking the roads in one stretch then breaking it up into two equally challenging rides. But Darcy had seen his Aunt and Uncle in close conference and the militant look in the Earl's eye as he looked him over more than once. He could guess what they were discussing. He hoped his Aunt would manage things with her usual diplomacy. The Earl was a kind man, but bent on maintaining the social strata he was accustomed to. He did not change his opinions easily.

Since it was indeed late, in the hour and the season, night had descended quickly. There were rumors that a highwayman had taken to haunting the roads. Even the legendary Captain Lightfoot was said to be about. Though Darcy carried a loaded pistol in his saddlebag, he thought it unwise to continue as this particular road seemed dense in the undergrowth.

The lanterns from an inn nearby summoned him. A faded sign with a picture of a horse burned into the wood, hung above the door still bright. Tired, his rump sore, it had been welcoming. Little did he notice the looks he received from the owner and his wife unused to quality staying at their establishment. They set a simple table, apologizing profusely for the humble fare, as it had been meant for their own consumption that evening. So very different from that supper long ago at the Goulding's, he had wolfed it all down scraping the last dregs of the pudding up with a spoon. And then to bed, too exhausted to notice its inferiority to his own bed at Pemberley, his last thought always of Elizabeth.

Only on particular evenings when he had overindulged in his finest brandy did he manage to forget her. There was no need to wallow or feel sorry for oneself when you were numb. It wasn't long before he discovered the errors of his ways. Or rather he was discovered. His dear sister, concerned that she had seen so little of him around the townhouse had burst into his private study one afternoon completely unannounced and found him still deep in his cups. The fear on her face, the guilt that consumed him as he looked, really looked into her blue eyes, terrified and wide so like their mother. The words of Elizabeth, "Gentleman-like manner," came to him whispered, yet angry, and he realized how disappointed his mother would be to hear him described as such. Shy, but proud, his mother had never shirked her responsibilities at Pemberley or as the wife of a wealthy landowner while in town. No one could have ever spoken a dissenting word about her, so perfectly had she understood her duties.

Georgiana had hurried from the room and Darcy had turned away, towards the silver serving tray. There he had first seen his reflection in many days, the bloodshot eyes, gaunt cheeks, scruffy appearance. He looked more like George Wickham after a bender, than a formidable member of London's polite society. If Miss Bennet could see him now, no doubt her opinion of him would drop even lower still!

He calmed himself with the reminder that there was little chance of encountering Elizabeth again. He little wished for it. After such a humiliation at her hand and then his letter, written in anger, delivered in anger, he could not wish any additional humiliation from her. But his sister, the hurt in her eyes, at least for her he could be a gentleman. A gentleman: by Elizabeth's standards.

He flung the brandy bottle away, picking up the silver tray, looking deeper still at his reflection. Beneath the red eyes was the pride that Elizabeth had pointed out, the severe unbendable opinionated persona. Little was this man aware of those around him deemed unworthy of his notice.

If he could see this fault in himself, how did others not see it? Was it because he was wealthy with a handsome demeanor? Those of the ton welcomed him with open arms, little caring about the man, only about his trappings. He thought of Miss Bingley, trying to appeal to him by being depraved and selfish. He had cringed each time she had spoken in Hertfordshire. He had always hated the husband hunters, the two faced-ness of the ton. And now that he had found a woman worthy of his attentions, she had denied him because she had seen those same characteristics within him that he claimed to abhor. No more! And the changes had begun.

His horse had since slowed under his lax hand and it now nickered at him, eager to run. He patted Apollo on his front haunch and gave him the desired instructions. The road was still wet from the heavy rain, and clods flew up around him muddying his breeches and boots. He pushed Apollo even faster, hanging on tight to the reins, such speeds required all of his concentration and he thought no more of Elizabeth.

On the outskirts of Hertfordshire he slowed the horse, feeling the sweat of the animal as it permeated through his riding breeches. The bubbling of a nearby creek summoned him and he let Apollo approach. Eagerly the horse plunged in, water up to his knees as he drunk deeply. Slyly, he ever so slightly began pulling on the water reeds, filling his belly.

Darcy pulled him away, "Come on old fellow. Neatherfield is not far and I'm sure Old Williams will have some fall apples for you." Once more he was grateful for Bingley's lack of affront at such unmitigated gall: even with no prior notice of his arrival, his friend would welcome him in with open arms.

He knew what he wanted and he hoped Bingley would comply. He smirked to himself. As if Bingley would turn down an opportunity to visit his angel. Darcy knew know that he would not be leaving without speaking to Elizabeth. He could not, would not stay away from her, unless she told him to go he would stay by her side as long as he was able.

Near Oakham Mount the road turned rocky and Apollo's hooves began kicking up small pebbles as they cantered along, creating a thundering racket. A small pebble flew into Darcy's eye and he pulled up sharply on the reigns, stopping the horse with one hand as he rubbed at his sore eye with the other.

He would never have seen the shawl hanging from the blackberry bush otherwise. He cocked his head as he looked at it, approaching slowly, he came to a stop. He listened for a moment, all was silent. The shawl was dangling, still moving to and fro as if it had not been there for long. Whoever had passed had done so recently.

He was instantly alarmed, was he the only witness to an abduction, the owner of the shawl pulled away by a black-hearted villain? He chided himself, he had been reading too many of his sister's penny dreadfuls! Wickham was long gone, by his own hand even, he could think of any other in the area who would dare such a thing. And he was close enough to Neatherfield to guard against such an atrocity.

His heart pounded still, for something was not quite right. He took a deep breath and smelled...roses. The exact fragrance worn by Elizabeth, how he had often greedily inhaled that scent! Who else would be out so early an on such an obscure lane, he realized. She was here, nearby, her shawl had just now ceasing its swaying.

He could not attribute what he did next to anything save a single moment of recklessness. How many of those had he suffered because of her? "Miss Bennet?" he called.

A pregnant pause; now that he was attuned to it, he could sense someone nearby, he was almost certain it was her. He looked deeper into the trees, there! Her tan pelisse peeking out from behind a few elm leaves, the same one he had often seen at Rosings "Miss Bennet, I know you are there."

The universe collectively held its breath, and then movement and the woman of his dreams emerged. Her bonnet was askew and there were a few leaves in her hair, but never had she been so beautiful. But she would not look at him, her cheeks high in color. She must be freezing without her shawl. Even he, under his padded traveling clothes and Great Coat could feel the nips of Old Man Winter.

Still she did not look at him, at the ground, his boots, his horse, but not at him. His heart fell and his eyes narrowed as doubt clouded his mind. Perhaps Aunt Elvira was wrong? No! He reminded himself of his mantra, "She must send me away."

It was unfortunate then that at that moment, his eyes steely, Elizabeth chose to look up. Her beautiful eyes, more so because of the pink of her cheeks were timid, and they clouded over immediately. Neither spoke. Darcy almost handed over the shawl wordlessly. But no, this was his chance.

"Good morning Miss Bennet," he tried to summon a calmness he did not feel.

"Mr. Darcy," her voice was wooden, and she dropped a small curtsey more out of politeness' sake than anything else.

Darcy desperately grasped for something to say, something witty. "The roads are wet at this time of year," he finally said and cringed.

"Yes, we have been experiencing rain." He saw that elusive eyebrow of hers just begin the slightest of crooks. Perhaps his comment on the weather hadn't been so bad if it drew out the formidable opponent he was used to!

"And you are on foot?"

Her eyes went militant, "As you see."

Remembering the last time he had encountered her on the road to Neatherfield, come to take care of her ill sister, he leaned in close, and with trembling fingers handed her the shawl, "You are traveling towards Neatherfield. I hope your family is well?"

He could not know it was the wrong thing to say, her face bloomed with color instantly, and once more she was looking at the ground, "I…yes…my family is all in good health."

"No sudden horse rides in the rain?" It came out sharper than he had intended, but at least she looked up. He smiled down at her softly, hoping she would understand that he only meant to tease.

For just a moment their eyes locked, he saw something flicker in hers, something he could not name but exhilarated him all the same, and then the window closed, her voice expressionless she spoke, "I thank you for the return of my shawl, Mr. Darcy, good day." She bobbed one more polite curtsy and then turned and passed once more through the underbrush at the side of the lane. Taunting woman-she walked where she knew the horse could not follow! Apollo nickered at him, anxious to reach Williams and his apples at the stables. Any other time, Darcy would have left him on the road, but Apollo had been especially loyal on this ride, he deserved his rest. He remounted, and turned the horse once more to Neatherfield.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet may have won this round, but the war was far from over!


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Yeesh, I really hate these! **

**I have a goal to finish all of my open stories in the next 9 months of so. No, that number is not arbitrary…think about it…think about it…Ah! You got it! Alas though, the morning-or rather ALL day sickness is killing me, so if my posts are a bit slow here and there, I apologize wholeheartedly.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

Regrouping was necessary Darcy decided, and, he surreptitiously sniffed at himself, perhaps a bath as well. Netherfield with its smoking chimneys was a welcome sight. Apollo, his usually loyal steed, quickly abdicated the moment he spotted Old Williams instructing a stable boy in the proper procedures for mucking out a stall. Darcy almost left without saying a word, but ever conscious of his newest resolve, he turned purposely back to Old Williams, watching Apollo subtly nudging the older man with his nose, "Sorry, Williams, I promised him the apples."

"That be a'right Sir," William's language might be coarse, but he knew his animals, and as such deserved his better's respect.

"Try and remind him how to be a gentleman?" Darcy smiled.

"Aye, Sir, but with the promise of apples, I believe it be a lost cause."

Darcy eyed the stable master seriously, noting the intelligence in his eyes, "Never! Never should our noble philosophies change, even for that which we want most."

Old Williams smiled at _this_ Mr. Darcy, so very different from the first he had encountered the previous fall, "Aye, Sir."

Darcy turned away, making his way towards the front of the house. The double doors were already open, and Bingley descended," Darcy, my good man! Come in. I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you! It is so wonderful to be here together again. Netherfield has been lonely without any company."

Darcy smiled slyly at his friend, "Bingley, I can't imagine you spending much time here, what with Longbourn only 3 miles away."

Bingley laughed, "You know me too well, old friend. I am so happy." Darcy cringed inwardly, knowing how much his friend's recent unhappiness had been due to his own ugly pride, he smiled tightly at Bingley, but thankfully, that gentleman was not attending, so consumed with his own joyful spirits, "I spend most of my time there. Thankfully, Mrs. Bennet is very accommodating." Darcy only smiled, trying not to remember his own strictures about that lady, "And at this time of year too! All my comings and goings, and nary a complaint about the cold air passing through her parlor!" Bingley was far from stupid, occasionally his optimism was mistaken for such, but Darcy knew better, and hoped he could learn from it. If his wishes came true, it would not hurt to have such optimism when it came to Mrs. Bennet.

Bingley clapped Darcy on the back, "What kind of a host am I? Keeping you out in the cold?" Is Simmons here?" At the shake of Darcy's head, "Well that's alright, I suppose Roster won't mind."

"Simmons will arrive this evening," Darcy felt he should mention that his own valet would be here shortly, thus saving Roster the extra work.

Bingley walked Darcy upstairs and called his own valet out of his rooms, "Roster? Mr. Darcy is here without his valet for the time being, you will see to him?"

Roster bowed deeply, "Of course, sir."

"There you are then," Bingley rubbed his hands together, the halls of Netherfield had always been chilly, "Same room as before I assume; yes, that will work, fourth on the right, correct?" he turned into his own room before Darcy could respond. "Oh and be quick, Darcy," Bingley called out, knowing of his friend's fastidiousness, "We are expected at Longbourn for tea."

Darcy tried to stop from scowling at his friend's, jesting. At least he was back in the game!

Though Darcy resolved to be a better man in all respects, there were certain aspects of his character that he was unable and unwilling to change. For example, his care and precision when it came to the manner of his own dress. Bingley could tease as much as he liked, but Darcy knew this was one thing he would not be swayed on. Particularly if he was going to encounter Miss Elizabeth Bennet!

As such, he prepared carefully little caring what Roster thought. He chose each article of clothing carefully, a black waistcoat, a black overcoat, and a pearl white shirt, knowing how well the contrast in colors set off his dark features.

"Thank you Roster," he waved the man away as the valet raised his hands to begin tying Darcy's cravat; Darcy did not particularly wanting to sport one of Bingley's favorites.

He would do better to tie his cravat himself. After 5 attempts and his pitiable failures surrounding him on the floor, he quickly discovered the error of this. His hands were a fumbling mess, he could not even tie one knot let alone complete several complicated tucks and folds as well.

Instead of leaving, Roster had stood to the side of the mirror, silently and patiently awaiting any further orders. It was to his credit that his face held no judgment for Darcy's attempts. Taking a deep breath, Darcy raised his chin, motioning the valet forward. Hopefully the Bennets would not notice the state of his cravat!

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><p>Unfortunately his public presence in a tied cravat that looked very much like Bingley's own waterfall creation was enough to make him a bit skeptical of every sideways glance and every giggle of Mrs. Bennet's sitting room. Nevermind that the giggling was coming from Miss Kitty Bennet lately ordered by her father to improve her mind through reading. Kitty had chosen a novel unbenounced to her father and was giggling both at the content, and her own ingenuity at getting away with it. The sideways glances were coming from Mary wondering what Kitty was laughing about, and also curious as to why Mr. Darcy was so formidably staring at her.<p>

Consequentially, Darcy nearly forgot what he was there for in the first place. A small sigh, one that was particularly familiar to him, and he remembered.

He finally looked at her, his own Elizabeth, sitting rather ill at ease on the sofa beside her mother and trying to ignore the looks of smug triumph being shot at her by that same lady. As Bingley's endless optimism reminded him, Mrs. Bennet could be useful. Obviously it was due to her influence and raw tenacity that Elizabeth was here at all instead of wandering idly out in the fields.

Mrs. Bennet also knew how to fill a sweet tray. He watched Elizabeth as nonchalantly as he could over the top of his teacup wondering what selection she would make this day. There were crumpets, petit sandwiches, lady fingers, cakes, and biscuits in abundance. Which would she choose?

She hardly looked at the tray though he could tell there was little deliberation in her choices-as if she made them daily—2 cucumber sandwiches and a thin slice of lemon-colored cake. He wondered if these were her favorites. He selected his own desserts and filled his plate, though he did not eat.

He was too busy eying Miss Mary still watching him and Miss Kitty still giggling into her hand. And of course secretly watching Elizabeth, beseeching her mentally to look up. If she heard the pleadings of his heart, she ignored them.

Mrs. Bennet was very quiet just now, herself enjoying a few lady fingers and her overly sugared tea—4 lumps of sugar! At least this meant that Darcy was free to gaze on the object of his desire, noting the way her hand carefully smoothed the napkin in her lap. She was nervous. He had just resolved to approach when Mrs. Bennet lowered her teacup, "Well, Miss Lizzy?"

Darcy frowned mid-step as he watched Mrs. Bennet give Elizabeth a significant glance before nibbling on a lady finger. For her part, Elizabeth cheeks bloomed a deep red, and if possible, she shrunk even further into her seat.

Mrs. Bennet frowned deeply, "Your father, so difficult too. Nothing good will come of it. Mark my words."

"Mama," Jane's voice pleaded.

"So be it," Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips and returned to her tea, "If that is what everyone wants."

Mercifully, the servant's door creaked open and the housekeeper entered, "The post has come, Ma'am."

Mrs. Bennet flipped through the letters quickly, pausing on a slightly weathered piece. "Oh," Mrs. Bennet cooed, "This is from my dearest Lydia, why it has been ages." Mr. Darcy was taken aback when her narrowed gaze settled on him, "And her being sent so far away from all of her friends."

"Mama," the gentle voice of Elizabeth softened Darcy's anger, "we have much to be thankful for."

Mrs. Bennet completely ignored her, "What does my dear Lydia have to say?" Mrs. Bennet's eyes skimmed the paper easily, "Well at least she has found some friends in Newcastle, 'a favorite of all the officers,' oh I knew how it would be! Yes, well I can understand that, yes, a new bonnet? Such distinction! I must see Mr. Bennet!"

The others watched her go, some resigned, others relieved, "Mr. Bennet," her strident voice carried back to the sitting room, "I have just had a letter from our own dear Lydia."

Mr. Bennet's sarcastic rejoinder answered her, "What can our youngest have to say?"

"Well, she needs…" the rest of it was lost as Mrs. Bennet closed the library door behind her, but none in the room mistook what was occurring even though they were no longer privy to the details.

Mr. Darcy, his face stoic wondered how Mrs. Wickham had already spent through her husband's rather generous monthly stipend. It seemed that Wickham's habits had changed little in marriage and he was dragging down his silly wife with him. Once again he thanked providence that he had saved Georgiana from such a fate. It was idle gratitude for he could not forget that the Bennets had been doomed instead.

Elizabeth had chanced to look up and seen the look of recrimination. How could he ever wish to be connected to such a brother!

"Miss Bennet," Bingley addressed his fiancé, "Would you be so kind as to come out for a walk with me?" He looked towards the window, the illusive sun making its presence known, "It is a fine day."

Jane blushed prettily, "That would be lovely."

"Oh, and your sisters as well?" Bingley smiled at each sister in turn, lingering on Elizabeth, "Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would care to join us?"

Elizabeth's lips compressed as she realized she was duly and completely cornered, she could not say no to such a polite request, "Of course Mr. Bingley, Jane and I will return momentarily."

Mr. Darcy watched her go, hoping that she would do exactly that.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Elizabeth turned rather frantically to her eldest sister, "Jane, I am not feeling well, I think I should return to my room."

"Lizzy," Jane stopped her with a hand on her arm, "Mr. Bingley especially wants to go for a walk, and with the wedding approaching, Mama has been particularly trying lately. I am afraid his affability is being sorely tested by her joyful assertions. Can you not join us for a breath of fresh air?"

"Oh Jane," Elizabeth reached for her bonnet, tying it under her chin, "You know I can never say 'no' to you."

Jane smiled widely, "Thank you, Lizzy."

Elizabeth reconciled herself to her fate as she slowly buttoned up her demi pelisse, "And as you have no other chaperone." Jane tried not to look guilty, realizing that in Lizzy's distraction she had been easily deceived. Surely she must know that Bingley would not leave his friend behind!

Elizabeth discovered that soon enough on returning to the sitting room, Mr. Darcy was already standing, his great coat hanging over the crook of his elbow. Mr. Bingley spoke, "Darcy has asked that we walk towards the stream. Though I am no angler, I thought we could oblige him," he added jovially.

Elizabeth looked away trying not to show how perturbing such a discovery was to her. Jane had outdone herself this time! She looked to her sister, trying to communicate her displeasure, but Jane was already once again wrapped up in her fiancé.

She made the briefest of glances towards Mr. Darcy, but he had already preceded the group through the door. Well at least there was that!

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><p>It was not long out in the sunshine that Elizabeth was forced to modify that opinion. While Darcy seemed enthusiastic about the pike stream, he was equally unwilling to leave her to her own musings. "It is very fine weather we are having this afternoon."<p>

He had offered her his arm almost at the door, and she found she could not politely decline. It was a beautiful torture, through his great coat she could just feel the strong-ness of his arm. If only they were walking as more than indifferent acquaintances!

She had hardly heard him and it wasn't long before he gently chided, "Don't you think I expressed myself very well just now when I commented on the weather?"

There was something about his tone that spoke deeply to her subconscious, something that she could not quite work out about the familiarness of his query, "The weather is quite lovely." There, that should be enough to satisfy him! There was not much else she could say without betraying her anxiety at being trapped in his presence. If she was not careful she would blurt out her guilt and it would all be over. He would know; her family would be ruined!

He managed to catch her eye and she blushed. Only at Pemberley could she remember him having looked at her like that. There, she had suspected him of courting. Here, her sense of self-deprivation overcame all else and she could not help but compare his mien to his aunt's in her final moments. Lady Catherine had stood tall and strong too.

Darcy pulled her closer to his side, where was the impertinent miss he had fallen in love with? He smiled softly to himself. At the beginning of their acquaintance he had been intrigued and entirely blind-sided by the challenge she presented. Now a different challenge lay before him.

"This stream is fully stocked." He cringed inwardly of the inaneness of the conversation, but there was little for it. His companion was silent, looking away into the trees. "It is your turn to say something Miss Bennet," he tried to be as pert as she once was, "I have commented on the weather and the state of the stream, perhaps you should mention the amount of rain Hertfordshire has experienced lately?"

Why would he bring up a conversation that had brought her so much mortification? "Whatever you wish me to say, let it be said," she spoke quietly, brokenly.

He frowned. Clearly there was more happening here than he had expected, "Are you well Miss Bennet?"

He turned to face her, forcing her towards him by the strength of his arm. She still refused to look at him, but her breaths were quick and shallow as he took a step closer to her. Yes, she was far from indifferent to him. He inhaled the rose oil in her hair, and gazed at her every feature. Hoe had he ever thought her tolerable?

Elizabeth finally gathered her courage, raising her eyes as far as his waistcoat and forced a smile, "I am well," she flung out a hand, "Simply enjoying the sunshine." It would have convinced him better if her voice had held more conviction.

"Really Miss Bennet?" he quirked an eyebrow.

She did not speak. Miss Bennet and Bingley had stopped a few paces ahead and seemed to be admiring some type of folly, and still Elizabeth did not speak. Finally he felt her pull away from him and move closer to the stream. She sat on a log, facing away from him, hands in her lap, fiddling with her skirts, "This is a beautiful spot, I think I would like to remain here for a time. Would you be so kind as to communicate with Jane and Mr. Bingley?"

No matter what his thoughts on the matter-and they were numerous and quite rebellious, Darcy did as he was bid, turning towards his friend and his lady.

Mr. Darcy quickly learned that Jane Bennet was a force to be reckoned with, particularly when she believed herself to be right. The decision to act was taken completely out of his hands when after telling Bingley and Miss Bennet of Elizabeth's plan to remain behind, Jane's upper lip thinned, and without a word she had determinedly approached her sister. So there was a bit of her mother in her after all!

Whatever was said, Darcy and Bingley were far enough away to not decipher it, but all too soon, the eldest Bennet returned to them, "Lizzy is unwell, and would like to return to her room. However," and here Jane smiled in a way that Darcy suspected was rather sly, "She has been so kind to remind me of our mother's wish to see both of you for dinner this evening."

Darcy doubted that Elizabeth said done any such thing. Looking askance at Bingley, he wondered if his friend knew how like Mrs. Bennet his beloved was acting. If it worked to Darcy's advantage though he little cared how much Jane channeled her stubborn parent, even to Bingley's detriment!

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><p><strong>AN: I'm on a roll today it seems!<strong>

**It has also been mentioned by one of you that I need a beta to correct my spelling errors and homonym usage. I have tried to find one before with little success, but in an effort to be more mature I thought I'd try again-If anyone is up for the job, let me know?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Darcy tried not to appear in anyway smug upon noting that Elizabeth had been seated directly beside his place at supper.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Bennet had also seated him near to herself and her silliest daughters, Miss Mary and Miss Kitty. While Kitty was clearly in awe of such a severe dining companion, Mary had no such compunctions. Every time Darcy looked up, he was greeted with her judgmental eye. And Simmons—barely out of his traveling coach—had even tied his cravat for the evening! He caught her words, speaking of the necessity of simple raiment, but he little comprehended them.

Having Elizabeth so close to him had addled his brain.

If this was what it was to be insane, he welcomed the feeling! Everything was overloaded—his senses and his heart nearly burst from it all. He knew of Mrs. Bennet's reputation for setting a more than adequate table, and with Elizabeth so close to him, he was guaranteed her attention for some hours—at least as she could hardly excuse herself from a family supper eaten in company.

_She_ was currently pushing food around her plate. He thought to take advantage of her distraction. "Is the pheasant not to your liking, Miss Elizabeth?"

She scowled before she turned to him, too late realizing her mistake. He was grinning at her, openly displaying his very white teeth and attractive dimples. Her heartbeat sped up— it was little wonder; she had never seen him smile like that before! No woman could have maintained her sanity when faced with such masculine beauty! "I feel that I have no taste for pheasant this evening," she managed after a moment's hesitation spent collecting her wits.

"You are not eating," he noted, not bothering to hide the accusation in his voice.

She instantly bristled, "I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, Mr. Darcy."

He leaned forward, his soft breath tickling the shell of her ear, "I thought we had already established that many things concern me."

How could he insinuate such a thing? It was all too much! She could not allow it to continue. "Ah, yes, you have a sister, I recall, who you take prodigious care of. Well, for her sake I suppose I will affect a healthy appetite so she will not receive a lecture on proper nutrition when next you meet."

She did not look at him, and she did not see the forlornness in his eyes. It seemed to him that they were back where they had started, her thinly veiled contempt hidden behind wit and seemingly good humor. This time he did not mistake it for anything but what it was, and he inwardly cringed. It was as if she had forgotten all of their recent interactions. Had she not seen how hard he had tried to change? That she would think so little of him regarding his own sister! Did she not know how delicate his relationship with his sister was after Ramsgate? Elizabeth knew all! Confident, prideful, but still a man, it was hard to withstand such blatantly mixed emotions. He would not abstain though, he reminded himself. Miss Elizabeth would have to be more forthcoming with her contempt than that if he was to abandon this undertaking.

Elizabeth, for her part, realized the cruelty of her words, but she would not, rather could not, take them back. To save her own family, she must resist. She could already feel her carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble.

As Mr. Darcy turned away from Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet saw her chance. An earlier lengthy discussion with Mr. Bennet concerning his refusal to fund his youngest daughter's continuing attraction to haberdashery, had realigned her anger towards the person she now considered to be the rightful target. With that in mind, she now attracted his attention, "You have a large estate in Derbyshire, I believe Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy strove to be civil, "Yes ma'am, Pemberley."

"It is a beautiful place, Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Bingley broke in trying to distract his future mother-in-law from his taciturn friend.

"I have heard it spoken of as such." Mrs. Bennet managed a smile before turning her eye back towards her quarry. "I don't suppose you know of _whom_ I speak?"

There was a very long and pregnant pause in which no one knew quite how to respond.

Finally, "Pemberley is beautiful, Mama. I believe my aunt and uncle had much to say of it," Elizabeth's voice sounded rather desperate as she tried to distract her parent from her intended course.

"That is right," Bingley snapped his fingers, "I forgot they had visited there. Mr. Gardiner is a very good angler," he mentioned to his beloved.

Jane, all smiles and blushes, admitted it to be true, and the rest of the table was forgotten once more by the pair of acknowledged lovers.

"Yes, I can never get a good fish unless your uncle is here," Mrs. Bennet noted. Darcy was just returning to his own dinner companion with all confidence once more, for even he could see that she had purposely protected him, when Mrs. Bennet spoke again, "But I wasn't talking of Mr. Gardiner." Her eyes were slits of indignation. "Perhaps you remember that Mr. Wickham grew up near your estate? Or are you too great a man to think on such things?"

Elizabeth turned towards her father, her wide eyes and tight lips imploring him to restrain his wife, but he only shrugged his shoulders and sipped his wine. In the interest of maintaining his peace, he little cared who Mrs. Bennet blamed for her favorite daughter's poverty so long as it was not him.

"Indeed, Madam, I am not," Mr. Darcy said woodenly.

A woman of more sense would have perhaps left him to his supper after such a response, but Mrs. Bennet had never been accused of being such, "It is so sad that he has lost your friendship."

"Mama," Elizabeth pleaded, "we cannot know the circumstances…we judge unfairly." Darcy's heart was beating so rapidly now that he almost turned to her and confessed all, propriety be damned! After such a public avowal, surely she must feel something for him!

"Oh, Lizzy! _You,_ as well as all of Hertfordshire, know the circumstances. Was not Mr. Wickham so gallant to all of us?"

_But certainly not in decimating the character of Mr. Darcy,_ Elizabeth noted to herself. "Perhaps, it would be wise to remember that he, along with the rest of the militia, is long gone, going about his duties with little thought of our little corner of the world."

"I refuse to believe that of any of our friends," Mrs. Bennet was at her most stubborn, giving what defence she could.

Elizabeth turned once more pleadingly to her father; he could not remain quiet and allow a man of ten times Mr. Wickham's consequence to be so insulted at his own table!

Mr. Bennet nodded in resignation, perhaps this had gone on long enough. "Did you know, Mrs. Bennet," he asked as the second course was laid down, "I had a visit from Sir William this morning?"

"Sir William, such a genteel man."

Mr. Bennet refused to share his opinion of such inanity, and chose to say instead, "You will be interested to know that he plans to give over more responsibilities from the family farms to his son John."

Mrs. Bennet cut off a small piece of beef, combined it with a bit of potato and shoved it into her mouth, all the while glaring at her spouse.

Mr. Bennet wiped at his mouth with a napkin, "Well, my dear? Aren't you curious as to why?"

"Why should I care about the Lucas boy, I ask you? Oh if only we had been able to have sons," Mrs. Bennet raised her own napkin to her watery eyes.

Her husband interrupted her histrionics, "I thought it might be of interest to you, for Sir William mentioned that John perhaps was thinking of taking himself a wife…" he left off speaking abruptly and sipped again at his wine.

Mrs. Bennet did a quick burst of arithmetic. By her own reckoning, which wasn't _too_ far off the truth, John Lucas would be nearing his 24th birthday—just the right age for thinking of setting up his own home. "What a fine thing for our girls!"

This particular conversation had been played out in the Bennet household almost from the moment Lydia had been out of leading strings. Mr. Bennet refused to continue the established lines however. "Yes, isn't it?"

Mrs. Bennet looked down the table at her remaining single girls. Miss Lizzy? John Lucas was too good for that stubborn child!

Miss Kitty? Too timid.

Miss Mary…perfect. Both parties with such good sense, it would be the perfect match! If John would make his move sooner rather than later, perhaps there would be a double wedding. That was just what Mrs. Bennet would have said she preferred. It would certainly be less trouble to herself, for who would suffer the pains of organizing the wedding for _two_ daughters, save the mother? She must invite John Lucas for a family dinner. But with Bingley so often at their table, which evening would be the best?

Mr. Bennet noting his wife's ponderings was satisfied with his success and raised his glass in an imaginary toast to Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth cringed. Sometimes her father was as impolitic as her mother!

She turned an eye towards Darcy—she couldn't seem to stop herself—to see how he was affected by the opinions of her family. He was chewing his beef rather stiffly, though not quite as forbidding as she would have imagined.

"Mr. Darcy?"

His eyes turned to her immediately, "Yes, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I…" It was a desperate attempt to talk to him, to insure he wasn't offended by her mother's thoughtless comments, but now that she had committed to it she was discovering it to be very difficult endeavor indeed. "How does you sister? Is she in London?" She dared not bring up Pemberley again; her mother had neatly muddied the topic with her cruel insinuations.

"No, she is at Pemberley. Her studies in London are complete; she is spending the winter at Pemberley."

"And will she be in town for a portion of the season at least?"

"Perhaps after Easter for a time, if most of the snow has melted." An idea began to form in Darcy's mind. Knowing that there was little time left to him in Hertfordshire, he clung to it like a desperate man.

"Is it already snowing in the north?" Though Elizabeth occasionally read the London Paper, she held little interest for the weather reports.

"No, not at present, but it will be soon."

She nodded and poked at her potatoes.

"My sister was saddened to not become more acquainted with your over the summer." He would leave soon, but if Elizabeth was amenable to a correspondence with his sister, he could still remain in her thoughts, though duty compelled him to be absent.

Her lips formed a pretty kind of "o" and her eyes showed the surprise that such a compliment warranted, "I was very glad to make her acquaintance."

He smiled at her then, forcing her to speak quickly in her growing embarrassment, "Are you to join her at Pemberley before Christmas?"

"I hoped to, yes," his voice was even, but his eyes held something that she could not name, and his left cheek twitched ever so slightly.

She had forgotten all of her resolve to avoid him; this conversation, each of his looks, were too interesting for her not to attend, "During Christmas at Longbourn we are a very merry party; the Gardiner's come from London with their children; we decorate the tree and on the morn, exchange gifts."

"We have not had such a Christmas at Pemberley, not since my mother…" He cleared his throat before beginning again, "I had hoped someday…" his eyes caught hers, flickering with emotion, burning with intensity, and she did not miss his meaning. Coloring deeply, she lowered her eyes, thinking of what she wished for most, but equally sure it could never be.

He watched her carefully, tucking away her reaction in his memory for those cold lonely nights when he could think back on all their interactions at his leisure and know that she was not indifferent to him. For now though, there were other things that had to be said. Something was still bothering her. He suspected it was connected with his aunt and he _would _discover what it was. "Miss Elizabeth," he laid his fork down across his plate, "my cousin Miss de Bourgh has charged me with a mission."

Her eyes shot up, looking at him from under her lashes, confused yet interested. He smiled softly at her, trying to put her at ease. She was as jumpy as a green colt; he must be cautious with his wooing and his questions.

"One of my aunt's possessions was left behind." He would have continued if he hadn't noticed the way her cheeks paled.

Elizabeth had once again dropped her eyes to her lap. Darcy sat back, observing her, wondering as to the cause of her reaction. Here Elizabeth sat before him, all his senses alerting him, telling him that she knew something he did not.

"Do you know of it, Miss Elizabeth?"

She did not look up, only shook her head, her hands twisting together in her lap.

"My aunt had a particular cane that she preferred to use; I believe it was a gift to her from her late husband."

He leaned away then, going back to his beef and potatoes, giving her the moment he knew she would need to compose herself. However much he wished it otherwise, he had disconcerted her, caused her pain. It was not what he had intended.

Dessert was brought in, and all of the plates cleared, including Elizabeth's, though she had eaten nothing of it. The apple crumble and custard dessert was one of her particular favorites, but her appetite had long since abandoned her. Now that her stomach churned with guilt and pain, she could not partake of it, not even to please Cook.

For a moment, she had seen what it would be like to be courted by Fitzwilliam Darcy, to see the affection he held for her in each of his gazes, to realize the passion that lay within those dark eyes. He could not know how his calm questions involving his aunt could be such a torture to her.

The damage was done, however, and though he had ceased speaking out of concern for her, she knew he was waiting, that he would continue to wait until she finally spoke. All she longed for was the sweet solitude of her own room!

She mustered what little courage she could to reply to him, "I do not recall seeing a cane, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps my father would know more."

He nodded. It wasn't what he had wanted, but nevertheless, he would accept it, "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth."

The time for the separation of the sexes came, and the females, led by Mrs. Bennet, left promptly. Surprisingly, she did not urge her husband to _not_ linger over his port, nor did she suggest some silly wish to have the men join the women quickly for an impromptu musical recital; such similar tactics were so often employed by the matchmaking mamas of the ton.

Darcy to his credit was understanding of her reluctance to voice such implorings. Bingley had been duly and completely caught already, and Mrs. Bennet had had the entirety of the meal to watch her eldest be so admired. Bingley would not withdraw now! As for himself, he had somehow enticed Mrs. Bennet's increasing disfavor, there could be little reason why the men would be needed or wanted in the drawing room speedily.

Mr. Bingley looked towards his friend with an apologetic eye, but Darcy only shrugged slightly. Like Bingley, he was starting to realize that Mrs. Bennet would always remain uncultured, vulgar to some extent, and entirely ignorant of polite society. Since nothing could be done to further her education, it must be up to him to change his response to her.

As soon as the women had left and the door had been closed, the dining room conversation turned to such topics as interested all the gentlemen present. Mr. Bennet skillfully lead the way, talking of a new tenant, then new farming practices in general, before finally ceding the floor to his future son-in-law who stood ready to enthusiastically expound on the rare qualities of the latest hunting rifle just come out of London.

After all such masculine subjects had been exhausted, Darcy felt his moment had finally arrived, "Mr. Bennet, I am certain you are surprised to find me once again in Hertfordshire."

"Yes," Mr. Bennet saluted him once more, this time with his port, "Though I suppose all rich men can come and go as they please."

Mr. Darcy tried to smile at such a blatant criticism, but failed. For all of his idiosyncrasies, Mr. Bennet seemed like an intelligent man. Unlike Mrs. Bennet whose contempt was obvious, he could not understand why her husband disliked him so. "After the funeral service of my aunt in Kent, I was informed that I had been remise in retrieving one of her possessions from this house. A cane. Four rubies embedded in the head, mahogany shaft. Do you know of what I speak?"

Mr. Bennet's eyes lit up, "Ah, the elusive cane! Yes, well, my daughter Kitty must be credited with the find. I little know how it was discovered, but she brought it to me, and it now resides in my study. Perhaps we have lingered long enough over our port?"

Mr. Darcy nodded slightly. How could Mr. Bennet be so idle about happenings of his own home? Why hadn't he asked where the cane had been found instead of just accepting that it was? It seemed he little cared for anything but his port and his books! To be fair, Darcy admitted that such thoughts were perhaps influenced by his desire to uncover the mystery that now surrounded Longbourn, almost solid in its import, which made him despise Mr. Bennet's negligence in questioning his second youngest. Was he now to be forced to speak to Miss Kitty? Of all the Bennet girls, she had to be the one that most resembled Miss Lydia, Mrs. Wickham, rather. He would little forget his conversations with her many months ago in London when he had tried to convince her to leave her lover.

Nevertheless, he followed Mr. Bennet to his bookroom, removed the cane from its abandoned corner beside an old collection of dusty farmer's almanacs, and followed Bingley back to the drawing room. Mr. Bennet declined joining them under the pretense of having some letters to read over. Darcy suspected he was hiding.

Mrs. Bennet watched Darcy enter the room with a jaundiced eye, but after a quarter of an hour of her eldest pleading with her to remember that Mr. Darcy was Mr. Bingley's friend, she remembered her place, nodded quickly and then proceeded to completely ignore him.

Darcy hardly noticed as he quickly he canvassed the room. Miss Mary was sitting at the pianoforte, impatient to perform; his friend had already abandoned him for the charms of his fiancé; and Elizabeth was missing. He tried not to let the darkness clutch at his heart at her defection. Their time spent together at supper must be enough.

Near the fire he saw Miss Kitty, making a poor attempt at some type of embroidery. He watched as she sighed loudly before pulling out a few of the strings. The seat beside her was empty, but little wanting the attention that such a move would attract, he did not take it, choosing instead to move towards her by way of the window. Pretending to admire her stitchery, he finally asked, "Miss Kitty, I have been told that it is you who I must thank for finding my aunt's cane."

She looked up at him, her embroidery still poised between her hands, her brow creased. "What?"

He refrained from mentioning that in polite society it was wiser to say "Beg your pardon?" Instead he pulled the cane from behind his back, holding it before her, "This is my aunt's cane. Your father informed me that you were its discover. You have my deepest thanks."

"Oh!" Her eyes alight, she prattled on, "So it was a Grand Lady's after all. I knew they were rubies!"

Darcy nodded shortly. Kitty reached out touching each of the stones, "So beautiful."

"Thank you, Miss Kitty, I will inform my cousin that you admire it."

"The Colonel?" He could literally hear her salivating.

He wisely took a breath before speaking, "No, my late aunt's daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. All of my aunt's possessions are now hers."

Kitty smiled rather distractedly, "I wish I had an aunt who had died and left me everything, then all the men in Hertfordshire would be in love with me."

Darcy could hardly allow this conversation to continue if he was to keep his temper intact. Quickly extricating himself from it, he approached Bingley purposely and neatly interrupted his conversation with Miss Jane Bennet, "Bingley, we are going."

Bingley looked up, opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. Darcy was clearly past his breaking point. "Mrs. Bennet," he turned to his hostess, "we had a marvelous time, but I have some pressing business at Netherfield early on the morn. I hope you will excuse us."

With such perfect manners before her, Mrs. Bennet could hardly argue, and so both men, after gathering their coats and hats, were waved away from the house amidst the moonlight and the rapidly dropping temperature.

Bustling her girls back inside, Mrs. Bennet said to no one in particular, "I don't know why that Mr. Darcy always insists on joining us."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to my new beta Gayle, awesome work on this one!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It was with a heavy heart that Darcy arose the next morning to see the light dusting of snow that had accumulated on the ground during the late hours of the previous evening. If the conditions were as such here, the roads would already be dangerous further north. He needed to leave for Pemberley now or risk being snowed in for the duration.

Simmons, ever aware of his master's unspoken wishes, had already begun packing up his clothes, books and other personal effects. Darcy checked his watch; it was still early, much too early for his friend to be about. Bingley and the early morning sun were not usually expected to rise together. He would still be abed for at least an hour more!

Darcy knew he must linger; though his returning home was eminent, he owed his friend the consideration of wishing him well before he left. And Bingley would perhaps be more likely to remember to pass along his fond farewells to the appropriate parties if he was reminded of such niceties in person.

After informing Simmons of such, Darcy left for Netherfield's breakfast room, ready to linger over his coffee and paper.

He had just selected a third muffin and buttered it carefully when Bingley arrived, a veritable whirlwind of good cheer.

"I say, Darcy, did you see the snow? Had not expected that so early in the season. Jane," Bingley stuttered embarrassingly for a moment, "Uh, er, Miss Bennet…had told me that it usually doesn't snow here this time of year." Darcy bit his cheek to keep himself in check from exclaiming over such a senseless conversation. Is that what engaged people discussed— the weather?

Bingley poured himself some coffee from the sideboard and selected his own breakfast, two sausages and a helping of eggs. "What of Derbyshire?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. Though his intuition had already claimed it to be so, he had hoped that the London Paper would prove him wrong. It was not to be. "It seems the snow has blanketed all of England, though it is not deep. Precipitation was expected in Derbyshire as early as two days ago according to the almanac." He put down the paper and stood up. "I must be for Pemberley, Charles."

"Of course," Bingley managed to say around a bite of egg. He swallowed before speaking, "It has been wonderful having the company. I hope you can return for the wedding in the spring."

"Are you to stay here through the holidays then?" Darcy wasn't terribly surprised. If Bingley felt for Jane even a small portion of what he himself felt for Elizabeth, he knew that it would be rather painful to leave his Lady Love behind and celebrate the season elsewhere.

"Yes, Mrs. Bennet has already invited me to share their Christmas dinner."

Darcy turned away, smiling rather bitterly at Bingley's easy acceptance among the Bennets. First impressions were seemingly impossible to change!

"What of you, Darcy? Christmas at Pemberley?"

Darcy nodded. "It will be the first time we have celebrated the season at home since Father died."

Charles sobered instantly, remembering what the holidays had been like after the deaths of his own parents. It was one of the reasons why he and Darcy had become such fast friends— they were both orphans. "Might I be the first to wish you a Happy Christmas?"

"Thank you, Bingley," Darcy said as he bowed politely to his friend. "And thank you for having me here as your guest."

Bingley waved such civilities aside, bounding forward to shake Darcy's hand, "Oh, none of that, none of that. You know you are always welcome."

"Please remember me to all of our friends?"

Bingley smiled. "Of course!" His eyes became sly. "You know, I would speak to you on something. I know that my sister has always teased you of it, but are you…?"

Darcy interrupted him, already moving quickly from the room, "Another time, Charles; remember what I have said." And then he was gone.

Bingley sat again at the table and glumly resumed the consumption of his breakfast. There was nothing sadder than losing one's guests. He pondered that for a moment before smiling widely. Well at least with Darcy's agitation at the mention of a certain person, he knew that he wouldn't be without entertainment for long! He could not wait to tell Jane.

Darcy's trip to London was easy, the snow on the ground so little that it could hardly impact his travel. Once arriving in London, however, things became more difficult. Sam Baily was an experienced driver, and though he could hardly read, he quickly gathered reports from his fellows. After hearing about the treacherousness of the road further north and the carriage accidents that had already occurred because of foolhardy travelers, he refused to make the trip. It took much coaxing on the part of his own missus and Mr. Darcy to alter his resolve. He was truly tested when his missus reminded him that it had been many months since Darcy had seen his sister.

It was Mr. Darcy's argument that finally resolved him, "I would not wish this to be a dangerous undertaking; see that the carriage is checked and refitted as necessary." He clutched his beaver hat to his head as a sudden gust of wind blew through the street. Looking up at Sam sitting atop the carriage, he added, "Let it be accomplished quickly, however."

As Sam drove Mr. Darcy across town, his mind grew excited at the possibilities. After depositing his master at his destination, he turned towards that particular part of town that was well known to him. There was a new axle that Sam had been meaning to look into and with such a command from his employer, he could hardly do otherwise!

His wariness quickly turned to eagerness as he saw and heard that, though the axle was expensive, it was considered to be much more reliable than the previous offerings of the same. It had been a long time since he had visited the carriage makers in London. Suddenly, new and fascinating avenues were open to him. He liked the look of a new metal driver's seat for himself, and the thicker and stouter carriage wheels would make traveling over the winter easier, so he thought it wise to make the investment now.

Darcy knew, though he wished otherwise, that his orders would take time to carry out. After sending Sam away to follow his instructions, he squared his shoulders and surrendered to his duties. As there was little way around it without seeming entirely impolite, he must make a few calls to his acquaintances. The very last was to the Hursts and Miss Bingley at Grosvenor Street.

Caroline Bingley, still not recovered from her brothers defection and engagement to a country nobody, had no compunction at voicing her disproval; she began her strictures almost from the moment Darcy had accepted a cup of tea. "So Charles is set in his choice?"

At Darcy's acknowledging nod, she continued, "I suppose her mother has already been through Netherfield suggesting changes— lace at every window, more candles in the ballroom." She and Mrs. Hurst smirked at each other, "Such vulgar relations!" She shuddered, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Darcy said nothing.

Miss Bingley sipped at her tea, and though Darcy had not agreed with her vocally, she was not uncertain as to her power. He had recently come from Hertfordshire where he must have endured all manner of roughness. Though she could no longer deny that Darcy admired Miss Bennet, there was still no announcement from that quarter. At least Darcy still understood where his duties lay.

Perhaps a reminder as to the unsuitability of the Bennets would be necessary, "Are _all_ the Bennet daughters still at home?" There had been a whisper of something, nothing confirmed of course, but once the engagement of her brother to Jane Bennet had been announced, there had been the slightest of whispers about the youngest daughter and a known rake. She admitted rather painfully to herself that she had been forced to squelch them, knowing that it would do her family no good to be attached to such scandal. But there was no reason to spare Darcy from the rumors if it could still ensure her own comfort.

There was something sly about that question that lead Darcy to tread carefully, "All the unmarried ones are, yes."

"Ah, yes," Miss Bingley purred as she smiled rather snidely, "I had heard that the youngest Miss Bennet had run off from Brighton with one of the officers. So she has married after all."

"I heard no such rumor, only that Miss Lydia was lately married," the finality in his voice was telling.

So he knew of it. Even worse, he was actually defending the marriage, even though she was aware that it had been a rather hurried affair. It was all mind-numbing! She thought she had known Mr. Darcy; she had spent years aligning her opinions with his, but this? It was inconceivable!

Mr. Darcy was formidable among the London ton; it was one of the reasons why she had always courted his favor. Why was his opinion suddenly thus altered? It had been something that she was so sure he could not possibly approve of.

Mrs. Hurst noticed her sister struggle at Mr. Darcy's set down and not wishing to be included in his censure spoke, "We have been such a small party here. I have heard that dear Georgiana is not in London; how desolate we were to hear of it."

"My sister is at home at Pemberley."

"Are you to join her for the holidays?" Mrs. Hurst continued.

"As soon as may be, yes."

"Oh, how wonderful," Mrs. Hurst added with a contrived smile. "Pemberley must be beautiful during the holidays. And to be with good friends and family at that time of year— that is what the season is all about, is it not?" She paused tellingly, but Darcy said nothing. Mrs. Hurst had never been as good at the cultured subtleness that Caroline had somehow mastered. Finally, rather haltingly she added, "If only Charles would come to London."

Mr. Darcy, once a co-conspirator for getting Charles to London, remained silent. Much grief had come from that decision, and though Bingley's sisters still refused to see their own culpability in the whole, Darcy had yet to truly forgive himself for causing his greatest friend such pain. Mrs. Hurst, like her sister, was a capable hostess, and during his momentary inattention, she had succeeded in filling his teacup once more.

Darcy took a deep sip. He had done his duty, and now the visit could be concluded. For the next five minutes he endured all of the frivolousness present in a sitting room presided over by two contentious sisters. Finally he was able to take his leave, citing his need to see to some business in another part of town.

Christmas was on its way, and with the little leisure time he had been afforded lately, he had not chosen all of Georgiana's Christmas presents. He made his way to her favorite bookshop, not far from the Hurst's townhouse, and lost himself for an hour or so amongst the smells of leather and the printed word. He had a substantial pile under one arm and was just reaching for a new novel that he was sure would interest his sister when he overheard the beginnings of a conversation from a few shelves over. "And he will marry her?" The curious voice of a cultured female had spoken rather loudly in the surrounding quiet of the bookshop.

"Yes, even though her history is practically transparent," answered her companion, her voice subdued.

"What could have convinced him then?"

Darcy leaned closer, curious, hoping that the man under discussion was not Bingley. A few hearts must have been broken by the announcement of his friend's engagement. He hoped these two women had not been some of the hopefuls; it was hard to contradict the vitriol of a woman scorned.

The second voice spoke again, clearly resigned, "He claims it is love, and at least from his side, he seems to believe it."

"And what of her?"

"She seems to be attached…"

"There is little to do in such cases, Lady Latrisha, but accept it then."

"But he has the wealth, the bearing, even the title after Papa dies. With so much to attract her, how can he be certain that her feelings are true?" asked Lady Latrisha.

Finally Darcy knew of whom they were speaking; he had read of it himself only days ago in the papers. Viscount Larson, Lady Latrisha's own brother, had become engaged to a Miss Webber, a lady of little background and even smaller means. He knew Viscount Larson mostly by reputation, having graduated from Cambridge many years after him. Much like Darcy, the Viscount did not often court the favor of the ladies of the ton, and he had remained securely single for years. Miss Webber had no connections, nothing it seemed that should attract the wealthy and attractive Viscount. She had been toasted as a beauty, it was true, and as she was both demure and intelligent, she was expected to make a good match, though not a spectacular one. Her success had been as preposterous as it had been complete.

"I cannot allow him to throw our family pride away on a woman with so little background, even if mother likes her. What if she is just a fortune hunter like the rest of them? It would break my heart." Darcy winced as he heard the telltale sound of a handkerchief being dusted across a wet cheek.

"It does you credit, Lady Latrisha, that you are taking into account your brother's feelings."

"But what if I am right?" Lady Latrisha sighed.

"Let us hope that you are wrong."

Darcy smiled to himself as he left that conversation behind and headed to the counter to pay Mr. Johnston for his purchases. Perhaps it was not as revolutionary as he had expected, the idea of marrying for affection these days!

It was perhaps well and good that Darcy was in such a temperate mood when confronted by the bill from the carriage makers. After loading the bags, Sam had approached his master and enthusiastically handed him the bill while rhapsodizing on the carriages newest features. One look at his master's appalled features and Sam Daily quickly realized his error, and instead, climbed onto his seat and waited for his orders.

Inside the coach, Darcy set the basket of food from his housekeeper beside his feet, chose a book from the pile at his side, and then tapped on the roof, "Drive on, Sam."

Sam did as he was bid, but Darcy could not read. Still he heard the words of ladies in the bookshop speaking about love and affection in marriage. He could not believe his good fortune at the ever varying opinions of London. If Lady Patterson was willing to accept Miss Webber of questionable heritage so long as there was affection, she could have little to say against Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn if he could secure hers. And with the early approval of Lady Matlock, Elizabeth's way would be clear, for not many would dare cross his aunt.

Now he must wait for the lady's thoughts on the matter. The coming of winter had been timed rather badly for him. He would now have to be separated from Elizabeth, not only by distance, but also propriety and whatever it was that had bothered her so.

He thought on that— her subdued, sometimes hostile manner. There was something in her eyes, though, that he could not dismiss. He had learned his lesson at Rosings; instead of admiring from afar, he had engaged her in conversation, pushed her, courted her really, and he had noted her responses. She had neither been impertinent nor cool in the majority of their interactions. In fact, she had seemed rather flattered by his attentions— the darkened cheeks, the lowered eyes, all spoke of her own attraction to him.

Except, he reminded himself, in those odd moments that he could not attribute to anything. Not her past performances, at least. Suddenly she had withdrawn completely, painfully so, treating him far differently than ever before. Something was going on, and it had much to do with his aunt, he decided. He would not forget Elizabeth's pale features and fidgeting hands when Aunt Catherine had been mentioned. And he had not forgotten how closed-mouthed Mr. Bennet had been about the whole thing.

Darcy chuckled darkly. He felt like Ja'far from The Arabian Nights' Entertainment— ordered by Harun to discover the murderer of the mysterious woman hidden away in the trunk. He remembered all of that forbidden book, but The Three Apples had particularly struck him. Often he had wondered what it would be like to be a Bow street runner, using his intellect as his guide in solving the more heinous crimes of London. In some ways, his recent tracking of Wickham had healed him of such dreams. There was never much happiness to be discovered once the case was solved, so to speak.

He knew, though, that his future happiness completely depended on discovering what had happened when his aunt had come to Longbourn. He thought over all the facts or the few that he had been graced with. He still had the letter from Georgiana among his personal papers, where he could readily read and reread Elizabeth's words, marveling at the woman who had stolen his heart. He very nearly had it memorized.

Lady Catherine had paid the Bennet's a social call. Unlikely.

Not that he suspected Elizabeth of lying, but his aunt did not pay social calls strictly for politeness sake— particularly not in the winter, and certainly not fifty miles from her own home. No matter how much she would have argued it, Lady Catherine was getting on in years; fifty miles, even if the roads were good, would have been uncomfortable for her.

Secondly, she had suffered apoplexy while she was there.

He was no medical doctor, but he had heard of the occasional death by apoplexy and how angry the victim had to be preceding their demise. Several doctors urged their patients to keep their tempers to ward against it. Lady Catherine had a temper. She had lost it and died. But how could she have lost her temper surrounded by those she would have considered her social inferiors? Rather, Darcy could see her sitting amongst the Bennets rejoicing in her superiority. He frowned suddenly. No, there was one at Longbourn who would always trump Lady Catherine, for he had seen her do it.

At Rosings, Elizabeth had frequently bested Lady Catherine, both in politeness and social superiority. Lady Catherine had shown quite an interest in the second Miss Bennet, speaking to her and of her, even when she was present.

Why was that so?

He had not questioned it then, expecting, or rather hoping, that Lady Catherine had wanted to get to know the woman that he was interested in. While he had hoped that Lady Catherine would accept Miss Bennet, he was not ignorant of that lady's wish to have him for her own son-in-law. She had often spoken of it. Had she recognized the competition for her own daughter in the impertinent country miss? That seemed likely.

After the shock of her death had worn off, he was beginning to remember Lady Catherine as she really had been and not as he had hoped she would be. She had not been as Lady Matlock. Nearly every trick, shy of compromising her daughter so that Darcy would be forced to marry her, she had tried. She had spoken of the two as wedded already, regularly enough that it took all of Darcy's wits to free himself from Rosings and his aunt, time and time again. He had thought that Lady Catherine would have accepted Elizabeth as her new niece. But what if this was simply not true?

It still did not explain what she was doing there though! No matter how painful it was for him to admit it, Elizabeth was not his fiancée. Lady Catherine would have had no viable reason to call on the Bennets.

A sudden connection struck him as a slap across the face. There was one subtle link he had not thought of.

Mr. Collins, that bumbling idiot parson of his aunt, was also Elizabeth's cousin. He was in Kent. He often sat with his aunt for tea. He listened intently to every single word of verbiage that came forth from the mouth of his patroness. Would Lady Catherine have betrayed herself? Could it be possible that Mr. Collins knew something? He rolled his eyes as a headache began to form. His patience for fools was already spread thin. Now he was grateful for the snow that would keep him from Kent for the season.

He smiled suddenly— Colonel Fitzwilliam was still in Kent! And as a member of His Majesty's army, the Colonel did not lack the tenacity needed to question fools; he had often spoken of it. Darcy would leave this one up to his cousin. A weight lifted after he carefully planned out the letter he would write once he had arrived at Pemberley, and soon the gentle sway of the coach lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

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><p><strong>Thanks again, Marina and Gayle<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

His sister was very happy to see him, and Darcy was a bit mortified at her enthusiasm, feeling the entirety of his error in not joining her at Pemberley sooner. "Fitzwilliam," she rose and practically skipped towards him, "I am glad that you are here."

He smiled down at his charge, still so very young, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I'm sorry it took longer than expected."

"Oh," she said, her eyes reflecting her forgiveness, "No, you were busy." She sat back on her sofa, readjusting her skirts like a lady. "I've had a letter from Aunt Matlock."

"I had expected her to still be at Kent." Darcy was surprised that his sister had heard from her. He knew that Lady Matlock had been trying to turn Lady Catherine's duties over to Anne, not a task to be envied. Having been previously schooled to be his wife, Anne must have some general knowledge of how to run a house, though what little she could actually have put into practice had probably been restricted because of her health. Lady Catherine had been such a strong domineering personality. He wondered if Anne would be able to muster the motivation necessary to run Rosings and command her servants and tenants.

"Yes, Aunt Matlock mentioned that she was still in Kent, though she didn't speak much of it. Rather…" Georgiana turned crimson and left off speaking.

"She was speaking of the season." Aunt Matlock had already broached the subject with Darcy; it had been a frequent topic between them. It would soon be time to discuss Georgiana's coming out.

"Yes." Georgiana knew her duty, but that didn't mean she had to like it. After a significant glance from Mrs. Annesley, she forgot that particular worry and rose to tug at the bell for tea. "I've had the kitchens prepare something warm for us. You must be cold."

Darcy's feet were slightly frozen in his boots— only a hot bath would solve that, but he was proud of the thoughtfulness his sister was displaying. With Mrs. Annesley as her guide and with time, Georgiana would be celebrated as a wonderful hostess, just as her mother had been before her. "Thank you."

Though the distraction was welcome for now, he knew that he and Georgiana must continue their discussion later. She was as reluctant as he for the season, but she was nearing the age where it would be important to at least make an appearance; a few family parties and attendance at some concerts would be a necessity if she was to be welcomed by the ton seamlessly.

Already, there had been queries from some of his acquaintances as to when his sister would make her formal curtsey. Fashionable London was growing curious. If he wanted to limit the gossip which he knew would be injurious to her future, she must be seen.

Mrs. Reynolds, knowing of the Master's return, dutifully brought in the tea tray. As housekeeper, she needed to be available to receive his earliest orders, personally. "It is good to have you home, sir."

"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. Please be so kind as to put out the appropriate decorations for the holidays."

She nodded curtly and turned away before he could see her smile. It had been many years since Pemberley had been decorated in a festive manner. As she returned to the kitchens, she wondered idly again if the master was thinking of soon taking a bride; his general attitude as of late seemed much brighter. It did her old heart good to see him happy.

"Chef Andre," she greeted the French chef, his hands covered in flour as he prepared his baguettes for the morrow, "I believe the master will require a Christmas Feast this season."

Chef Andre nodded stoically, but she could see the glimmer of interest in the young Frenchman's eye; yes, he would relish such a challenge.

Mrs. Reynolds passed the sweet meats trays to Betsy, the second housemaid, "Take this to Miss Georgiana's sitting room."

Betsy carried the trays carefully down the hall, her perfectly starched and pressed dress swishing against her ankles. Entering Miss Darcy's sitting room as quietly as she could, she set them near her mistress. "Thank you, Betsy," the deep voice of her master reverberated throughout the room. She curtsied deeply then turned to go.

Mr. Darcy accepted a plate of Chef Andre's delicacies from his sister, "You have outdone yourself, Georgiana. I believe this is the finest tea I have ever had."

His sister blushed deeply under the praise. Darcy turned to the window as his brow darkened thinking on his sister's introduction to the ton. She would be exposed to not only all that was good and civilized, but also all that was base and vulgar. She would have to learn how to see the difference between the panderers and the truly sincere if she was to find her happiness. If only he could share the burden of that education with someone!

Later, in his study while his sister dressed for dinner, Darcy finally composed his note to his cousin.

_Dear Andrew,_

_I am home at Pemberley, and Georgiana is doing all within her power to make sure that I never leave! She has grown immensely in the last few months, and I am very proud of her progress. I hope you get a chance to see her before too long._

_Already all of my fields are sleeping under a layer of snow. Is it the same at Rosings? I have understood that you are to remain there throughout the winter. If that is the case, I have a rather delicate favour to request of you. It has come to my attention that Mr. Collins, our late aunt's rector, might know of the reasons why she decided to travel into Hertfordshire, a move universally considered to be out of character. It seems rather pertinent then that Mr. Collins be questioned as to our aunt's movements. I believe it would be in our best interest to learn of it. As you are to be the future master of Rosings, I know I can depend on you to get to the bottom of this. _

_Speaking of Rosings, Aunt Matlock informed Georgiana of your engagement to Anne in her last letter. I admit to being rather surprised to hear of it, when I had left Rosings earlier this month it seemed that while the Earl might wish it, it was still rather unlikely to occur, especially so quickly! _

_Are you certain this is the right step? Being the master of Rosings is a secure fortune for the younger son of an Earl certainly, but I cannot help but wonder if that offers enough inducement for you. Forgive my impertinence as a concerned cousin?_

_Fond remembrances from myself and Georgiana during this holiday season,_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy_

* * *

><p>Colonel Fitzwilliam, upon receiving such a letter, was understandably taken aback. He had not heard from his cousin in some time. That Darcy would want to investigate his late aunt's last movements he had not doubted— he knew of his cousin's propensity for solving mysteries, but that he should request in such strong language that the colonel take up his quest was rather preposterous in the extreme.<p>

Speaking to Mr. Collins willingly was not something that Andrew had done on a frequent basis, particularly not lately. The plan, in simple words, to condemn the man to the far off reaches of England had long been solidified, but nothing could be done during the winter or while Mrs. Collins was so indisposed. That lady he had seen nothing of; he only knew of the reports of her increasing from his mother. The same could not be said for her tenacious and ridiculous husband who still wished to condole daily with the family.

Mr. Collins was a menace, Andrew had decided in his gruffer moments. Thankfully, estate business had literally kept him locked away with his father for the most of the time. The colonel had a good head on his shoulders, especially after spending so much time in the Army, but running an estate was an entirely different beast, and unlike his brother, he had not been raised from birth to be an heir.

And, as both the Earl and his younger son were discovering, Lady Catherine had been an abysmal mistress at best. The only good clerical work that could be seen in the ledgers was to be found each Easter when Darcy had come to visit, painstakingly balancing everything once again. Not only that, but there were records of him dealing with the more tenacious of Rosings's tenants and often at his own expense. The worst roofs of the district had been fixed, and the farming equipment had been repaired or replaced. But last Easter had been nearly a year ago now; there was much to be done again.

There was some relief to be had, at least physically, for the people of Kent. It seemed that while her husband was not much of a shepherd for his flock, Mrs. Collins did her best to visit and condole with the sick of the parish. If anyone of the Hunsford household would be missed by Rosings's tenants, it would be the lady of the parsonage. What excess she could gather from her own table found its way to the poorest of the neighborhood. And with his mother running Rosings's kitchens now, he imagined that much of the excess of Rosings was also being distributed. Hopefully, Anne would learn by example.

Anne… he closed his eyes as he contemplated another subject of his cousin's letter. He envied Darcy, being able to marry where he liked. Little could Darcy understand what it was to be a younger son. The earldom was set for his elder brother. Everything was tied up within the estate; there was little that Andrew could do, nor would he do, knowing it would deprive his brother of what was due him. His father and brother had given him generous presents over the years— helped him in his career— but the truth still stood: he must marry well if he was to afford even a portion of the comfort he was accustomed to.

Anne would not have been his first choice, but at least he was well acquainted with her. She was not like the grasping females of the ton, only wanting to marry him for his connections. And, she seemed to hold him in some affection even if it was only of the cousinly variety. He knew that he could do far worse. He did not love her— he did not expect to— but Rosings was a viable estate, he was familiar with it, and he was familiar with his bride. He had seen much of the depravity and wickedness of the world. Retirement at Rosings with a bride that he could at least stomach was not such a bad thing. There was enough of the positive to outweigh any of the negative.

Darcy would not understand that. But then the colonel did not really understand why Darcy was willing, nay, stubborn enough, to insist on marriage with a woman of lower birth and little fortune. Andrew liked Miss Bennet— surely he would have married her himself if she had been an heiress, but because she was not, he had taken pains to warn her away in the gentlest terms he could muster. He was not heartless; he could not stir up the fires of hope where there was none.

Understandably, it had come as a shock to him to learn how Darcy felt about that lady. That he was in love with her, had made her an offer and intended to do so again? He would welcome her into the family as was his duty, but he would never understand why she had been chosen. Surely a woman of fortune of nearly the same temperament could be found if Darcy had but bothered to look!

Andrew returned to the letter. Now Darcy wanted him to question Aunt Catherine's rector? It was preposterous! Darcy's reasons were thin, and though Andrew's mother's curiosity was piqued, she was interested for the sake of being involved in something other than the tedium of teaching Anne how to maintain a household. It had been many days since she had spoken of Lady Catherine's demise. Life at Rosings had moved forward and away from the tragedy.

It seemed that the only one still worried about the complexities of the situation was Darcy. It probably had something to do with Miss Bennet, Andrew decided. Didn't it always, where Darcy was concerned?

Andrew sighed, he would help. His brother and father had not been the only ones to offer monetary gifts over the years. Darcy had been more than generous. Additionally, though he would not wish to be credited with it, Darcy's refusal to marry Anne had settled Andrew's own fortunes. Yes, he owed his cousin this favor.

Finding Mr. Collins would not be difficult. It was nearing tea time, and it was a Friday, the day that the pastor had in the past frequented his aunt's parlor seeking her input on his Sunday sermon. He had not changed his habits, though he had received little encouragement from the current occupants of Lady Catherine's parlor.

Andrew wandered down the hall after informing his father that he wished to join the women for tea. His father did not argue, rather he was glad that his son was willing to spend time with his fiancée. Perhaps he had made the right decision, talking Andrew into offering for his cousin. The Earl did not feel guilt over his actions, not entirely at least, but it did his conscience good to see Andrew and Anne getting on so well together.

Entering the parlor, Andrew saw that Mr. Collins was already deep into his sermon, expounding on a rather obscure passage of the Bible. Anne's eyes were glazed over, and his mother, Lady Matlock, had hers rolled towards the heavens.

Andrew ignored the man's prattle and sat himself on the sofa between the two women. "Hello, Anne," he said as he kissed her quickly on the cheek before offering his mother the same salute. "Might I trouble you for some tea?"

His mother looked tellingly at Anne who rose, her cheeks a bit flushed, to pour out a cup of tea. Used to being served herself, her hands shook nervously at this new duty. Without offering Andrew the choice of any additives, she returned quickly to the sofa, handing the cup to him as she rearranged herself amongst her cushions, all the while casting her face away from him. It was something that Andrew had not expected; he had thought his mother would retrieve and doctor his cup for him. He smiled slightly— already Anne was succeeding where many had expected her to fail.

Turning to the pastor who had not noticed a thing beyond the papers of his sermon still glued to his nose, Andrew was shocked to hear that the man was now speaking verbosely of a battle fought between the Israelites and the Babylonians. Though Andrew was not a scriptural scholar by any means, he thought the selection of such a topic for a sermon to be preached during the holidays to be a rather odd choice indeed.

"Mr. Collins?" he interrupted the pastor who stopped speaking rather abruptly, a hand instantly flying to physically close his lips. "Do you think it wise to speak of war at this time of year?" Mr. Collins blinked at him. "It is almost Christmas; should you not instead be focused on the more joyful parts of the Bible?"

Though Mr. Collins had chosen that particular topic under the guise of pleasing his military-minded patron, he quickly saw the wisdom in realigning his opinion. "Yes, of course you are right, I will rewrite it immediately. Such condescension, sir! It is wonderful to be surrounded by people of identical temperaments and intelligence as myself, who don't hesitate to offer the olive branch of their superior wisdom."

Andrew smiled thinly; though having Mr. Collins's rather convoluted respect was nothing to envy, it would make his necessary questioning much easier. "I wonder, Mr. Collins, if you have a moment. There is a matter that I find I need your wisdom to discern."

Mr. Collins looked positively vain and obsequious all at once. His neck bent at the appropriate servile level, his chest puffed out, and his face held all of the pride of a man asked for his opinion. He nodded then bowed rather deeply as Andrew rose to his feet, indicating that he should follow. "Anne, Mother, if you will excuse us." He smiled at the look of relief that passed his mother's face and couldn't help but add, "It will be but a moment."

He didn't have to look back to know that his mother's eyes were narrowed at his back. "Mr. Collins, I believe we can find some peace in the library."

The parson, his body nearly bent in half, followed the colonel to the library and bowed rather deeply again when Andrew asked him to be seated. Looking between the offerings, he chose carefully. Not wanting to seem a man who thought himself equal to his betters, he avoided the overstuffed leather sofa. However, knowing that his opinion was to be thus requested, he also ignored the wooden seat in the corner— surely that was beneath his notice! Finally he chose a straight backed leather chair very near the desk, though he remained properly hunched displaying his awe of his host.

Andrew did not sit; instead, he leaned against the desk. And, he did not speak. For several minutes he only looked at the parson, his eyes flat and not blinking. Mr. Collins opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it once more. A single drip of sweat worked its way down Mr. Collins's forehead and dripped off his nose. Finally Andrew spoke, "Mr. Collins, I had noticed that you seem deeply distressed by my aunt's death."

Though Mr. Collins had accepted it, the demise of his late patroness was not something he liked to dwell on. "It is not wise to speak of the dead," he pronounced.

"I believe the exact phrase is 'not to speak ill of the dead,'" the colonel immediately challenged. "I don't believe I said anything demeaning about Lady Catherine. Is there something _you_ wish to say about it?"

Mr. Collins blanched, "Well I…never…no! Lady Catherine was all that is universally charming."

Andrew looked away for a moment, hiding his smirk. Estate work was tedious, but interrogation, that he understood. He decided he might actually enjoy this. "How long have you been the parson at Rosings?"

Mr. Collins sat up straight in his pride. "Two years. I find it…"

Andrew interrupted what was sure to be a very long winded speech, "And you seem to fit in rather well here." He did not as yet want the man to know that he was being replaced. "You have often been asked to Rosings, is that correct?"

Mr. Collins felt all of the intended flattery, "From my first fortnight here, hardly a month has gone by when I haven't been required by Lady Catherine for tea or to make up a fourth at the whist table."

"And you have dined here as well?" Andrew made sure to convey just the right amount of interest.

"Yes," Mr. Collins was all that was smug, "especially after I wedded my dear Charlotte. Lady Catherine was very pleased to ask us to her table."

"When did you marry?" There was a gleam present in Andrew's eye, but Mr. Collins missed it.

"This time last year, or thereabouts. I am but a humble parson and would not expect someone so superior to me to be concerned about the exact date."

Andrew raised his eyebrows at such fawning but nodded anyway. "I remember," he feigned. "I first met Mrs. Collins that Easter, along with her sister and your cousin." He pretended to think on her name and then snapped his fingers, "A Miss Bennet, I believe?"

Mr. Collins only nodded and a peculiar kind of a look overtook his features. The colonel did not miss it, and he wondered what it all meant. That Mr. Collins did not understand such a witty and headstrong lady was expected, but that look conveyed something else. Almost contempt. What reason could there be for him to have such a negative opinion of his cousin?

"I remember seeing much of you and the ladies at Rosings's table. It seemed my aunt enjoyed the company of the young ladies— Miss Bennet's, in particular."

Mr. Collins's face turned red. "My cousin, while a gentlewoman," he allowed, "sometimes forgets her place." His face worked its way into a sneer. "She forgets the sphere in which she was reared. Such condescension by her Ladyship could not have been unnoticed, and yet she did not heed the whispers of honor and decorum of what is due to her betters." It was said with such energy and in such a way that it reminded the colonel very much of something his aunt would have said.

"Oh? And what is that?"

Mr. Collins must have realized all that he had said, for he blanched suddenly and refused to speak.

Andrew pushed himself up from the desk and moved closer to the parson, observing him carefully. "Mr. Collins, I have heard that you visited with my aunt not long before she left for Hertfordshire."

Any color that had been left in Mr. Collins's cheeks faded away. "It is not right to speak such things of one's betters," he finally managed.

"Perhaps this visit has something to do with your sudden slander of your cousin?"

Mr. Collins refused to speak. Andrew tried a different tactic, "Mr. Collins. I know little of you before you came to Kent. Are you a younger son like myself?"

"No," Mr. Collins eyebrows knitted. Obviously the haphazardness of these questions was confusing him.

In a careful voice Andrew continued, "And your father's estate?"

"My own excellent father died some years ago," Mr. Collins finally said, and unable not to admit to his own good fortune continued, "I have been blessed to be the nearest male relation of Mr. Bennet of Longbourn. His estate is entailed upon myself."

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, though inside he was triumphant. "But it is not yet yours."

"Well no, but…"

"So, Mr. Collins, in maligning your cousin, Miss Bennet, daughter of the master of Longbourn estate, you were actually speaking of your betters. Isn't that right?" Mr. Collins goggled at him. "It seems you have no qualms about sharing your opinions about those who are outside of _your_ sphere. You were ready enough with them when discussing your cousin, a gentlewoman, your _better_ by your own reckoning. Perhaps, and I use your phrase here, perhaps, we can extend the olive branch and discuss what occurred at my aunt's table that night before she disappeared into Kent?" He was now leaning over the parson who was quavering in his seat, "Did my aunt say why she was going into Kent?"

Mr. Collins managed a rather shaky, "No."

"But _you_ know, don't you, Mr. Collins? That vitriol that you shared earlier with me sounds very much like something my aunt would say. Did she in fact speak those words that evening?"

Mr. Collins took out a handkerchief and mopped at his excessively wet brow. The colonel took that as confirmation.

"Why was she speaking thus, Mr. Collins?"

One short look towards the door, and then Mr. Collins trained his eyes on the floor, "No, you will not escape, Mr. Collins." The colonel's voice lowered to deadly levels, "Might I remind you that I will hold your living as the future master of this estate. It would do well for you to answer my questions."

"But Lady Catherine…"

"Lady Catherine is gone from this world," the colonel hissed. "Her concerns are no longer with us. Think on _that_, Mr. Collins."

Andrew rose suddenly, walked away to the window and threw the curtains open. Mr. Collins had chosen the seat that directly faced them and now his face was bathed with all the splendor of a strong winter sun.

It hit him directly in the eyes, and immediately he was more uncomfortable than ever. Oh to have this interview complete! "Yes, Lady Catherine did speak of my cousin in such unflattering terms," he said, his voice rather desperate.

"Do you know why, Mr. Collins?"

Mr. Collins hung his head, closing his eyes against the sudden headache that was forming, "Mrs. Collins had received a letter from her mother informing her of the Bennets' good fortune in receiving the proposal of Mr. Bingley to their eldest daughter." Andrew nodded; he had heard of it, but Bingley was so far removed from Lady Catherine that he could not imagine that _this_ had spurred her venom.

Mr. Collins hesitated.

"Is that all, Mr. Collins?" the colonel inquired as he raised an eyebrow at him.

"No." The parson mopped his brow once more. "There was also a report that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was soon to join her sister in the matrimonial state."

"And the man?"

"It was said to be Mr. Darcy." Mr. Collins's face turned towards Andrew, his eyes stubborn and narrowed.

The colonel returned to stand directly over Mr. Collins, staring at him hard. "There is no such engagement."

"But the reports…"

Andrew waved this away immediately. "Idle gossip obviously, Mr. Collins. I would have thought you, as a man of the cloth, would recognize that for what it was." He watched the man carefully as he tried to disappear into his shoes. "Did you tell my aunt of this as well?"

"Yes! With the family's recent degradation, as Mr. Darcy's nearest relation, Lady Catherine had the right to know." Mr. Collins seemed perplexed that anyone could believe otherwise.

Andrew did not bother asking about the degradation, he knew of what the man spoke. "And she left for Hertfordshire to have this report denied?" His anger was apparent in every syllable.

Mr. Collins could not speak; he only nodded his head once.

Andrew shook his head and turned to the window. His aunt, spurred on by the false words of Mr. Collins, had rushed to Hertfordshire to meet with Miss Bennet. That Mr. Collins had not spoken of it until now was understandable; he would not want to be held culpable for his aunt's death. That so much sycophancy, so much senselessness, so much vanity could be found in one person was astonishing!

Finally, Andrew raised a hand, waving Mr. Collins towards the door. "That will be all, Mr. Collins."

"And my living?"

Andrew nearly sneered at him. Instead he kept his face safely towards the window, "Return to your wife and comfort each other; your living is intact for the present."

Mr. Collins did not need to be told twice. He hurried from the room and then from the house, confused, exhausted, but at least secure. Mr. Bennet was, as yet, much too healthy to risk inciting his new patron to anger!

In his haste, he forgot the papers of his sermon. Andrew picked them up, looking them over. It was just as well; the fire was dying in the grate. With a practiced hand, he gathered them into a crumpled ball and flung it into the fire.

So Lady Catherine had hurried into Hertfordshire hoping to have the report of her nephew's engagement contradicted. Though Andrew did not claim to know Miss Elizabeth Bennet well, he knew at least that she concealed a sharp tongue. She would not have responded well to the attacks that his aunt would surely have leveled at her. Such an interview could not have gone well as Lady Catherine's anger would have made her very volatile indeed, volatile to the point of dangerousness. Death by apoplexy; her temper had done her in at last.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My betas are the best, thanks ladies!<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

At Pemberley all of the windows had been shuttered against the cold, and warm fires blazed in each of the common rooms. Still it did little to combat the cold that permeated the walls and slipped between the chair cushions. Darcy and his sister wore their thickest clothing, and Georgiana, prone to the same poor circulation as her mother, often rose late in the mornings only after her own room had been warmed as much as was possible. It had been many years thus and so Darcy was not surprised to find himself alone at the breakfast table. He had just poured himself a second cup of coffee when the post arrived. Amid the business letters was a note written in the precise hand of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Darcy opened it eagerly; at last there was some news to be had from Rosings! It was long, much longer than he had ever expected to receive from Andrew. After the first few lines, Darcy's legs gave out beneath him, and he fell heavily into his chair in disbelief.

_It seems we have underestimated Mr. Collins. It was from him that the rumor of your supposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet was shared in conference with our aunt. You can imagine her reaction; she never did like her wishes counteracted. _

It was mind boggling! He sat in silence for several moments. Engaged to Elizabeth? No matter how hard he wished it, how much it pained him to be otherwise, there was no promise of any kind between them. In his darkest moments, he admitted that there likely would never be.

And Collins, the catalyst for all the troubles endured both at Rosings and Longbourn? What could have possessed him? What would a man of his standing hope to gain from spreading such a false intelligence?

Definitely the rumor had not originated with the parson; the man wasn't smart enough to concoct such a scheme, surely. Darcy's lips thinned as he considered that Collins was, however, stupid enough _to spread_ such a story, especially into the waiting ears of his patroness! So where had it come from?

Obviously not from any member of the Bennet family— he could discount them immediately— for the entirety of the acquaintance, his reception from that household had been cool at best. Only from Jane and Elizabeth had there ever been any form of politeness. But who else would profit from such a rumor but the Bennets? He did not have an answer, and he set it aside immediately. Little did it matter where the rumor had come from, only that it had created such chaos!

He thought of his aunt's reaction. Never would he have expected his aunt to behave so rashly upon hearing such a report. Why had she not come to him? He would have denied it to save Elizabeth from Lady Catherine's censure.

Instead, she had gone into Hertfordshire and waylaid Elizabeth. What had been said between the two of them? How had Elizabeth reacted to an angry and accusatory Lady Catherine? Had she denied the suspicions? No, he did not believe that, for that would have been what Lady Catherine wanted to occur. She would have wanted Elizabeth to say the rumors were false. Had that happened, Lady Catherine would have yielded, leaving the Bennets in relative peace.

A vision accosted him of Elizabeth and himself at the Hunsford parsonage, her head quirked in that particular way of hers, words of righteous indignation spewing from her lips. Elizabeth's temper was biting when she lost it. Every word she had spoken had needled and humiliated him to his core. Whatever she had said in response to Lady Catherine's accusations, had angered his aunt to the point of abject fury. What exactly had she said? He was desperate to know.

Perhaps the letter would shed some light here. He returned to it and immediately wished he had not; the rest of it was a detailed accounting of the entirety of the conversation between Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Collins. After years of exceptional service in His Majesty's Army, Colonel Fitzwilliam was renowned for his candor; Darcy did not doubt the veracity of such a report coming from his cousin. His anger boiled in his veins; ever sinew, every muscle tensed upon reading such accursed words spoken of his beloved. That Collins would dare insult a woman of at least ten times his consequence— unfathomable!

One thing was obvious, Elizabeth had lied to him; even her father had lied to him. Why had anything less than the truth been necessary? He thought on this for a time, the letter slack in his hand, the fire near to his chair heating his legs.

Then he knew— it was all because Lady Catherine had died at their estate. It all boiled down to circumstance. If it had happened in her carriage or while walking through Meryton, things would have been different.

The Bennets were one of the most influential families in Meryton, equally revered and envied. If news got out that a grand Lady had died at their home after speaking to Elizabeth, it could be enough to shame her, and by association, all of the Bennets, undermining what little influence they wielded in their obscure little town. Small towns were notorious for such censure. Ignorance and loose tongues would rule the day, and no one would bother contemplating the meaning of the words "death by apoplexy."

But why hadn't Elizabeth said anything to him of it? He was intelligent and discrete; she knew this! Surely she didn't think…ah, but she did— she must have! The secret had been so closely guarded within the household that even Mrs. Bennet had been kept quiet! They feared _him_. Elizabeth feared _him_. She did not trust _him_.

If he felt less for her, nay, if he was no gentleman at all, perhaps he would have ensured that she was punished for such a thought. Yes, he had that kind of influence. How could she have ever contemplated him doing such a thing! Had his letter of explanation, his latest improved behavior, meant nothing to her? Had she not seen how he had changed? Every good word was for her; every look spoke of his ardor for her! If Elizabeth doubted his constancy, there was only one thing to be done!

He folded the letter, put it away, and looked around him. Georgiana had not appeared for breakfast; the sideboard had long ago been cleared. His sister must have had a tray sent to her room. He checked his watch. The hour was late; this time of the day she was typically practicing her music. Leaving his study, he walked purposely towards her sitting room.

Christmas carols filtered through the hallway, happy and melodious, and then Georgiana's own voice joined in. He paused, watching another thick layer of snow falling outside. He did not get to hear his sister sing often; even in his company she was still shy and withdrawn about her voice.

The carol was not a long one, and soon Georgiana had moved on to an instrumental piece, heavy and melancholy. Her performance of it was poignant, and he hoped rather than believed that it did not reflect her current mood making this a good time then for an interruption and a brotherly request.

* * *

><p>Across the country in a different county, it also snowed— though it was nothing to Pemberley's deep drifts and accompanying gale winds. A recent cold kept Elizabeth entirely inside now, and she was not completely sorry for it. The time of year limited the number of mornings in, mostly sparing her from any further public humiliation at the hands of her mother.<p>

Though there were seasonal evening parties to attend, it was not so bad, for Mr. Bennet enjoyed the Christmas season, and though he was still a rather taciturn and quiet party goer, his mere presence served to temper the tongues of both his wife and his youngest daughter save one.

Elizabeth found that never had she enjoyed a Christmas party so well. Dear Jane was there with her Mr. Bingley, and there were only happy and effusive smiles from that quarter. Lydia was far to the north in Newcastle and, therefore, unable to guide her sister Kitty into any form of mischief. Mary, though expounding on some of the deeper and obscure subjects of the true meaning of Christmas while waiting to share her latest concerto with the group, had at least for the moment moved away from the dreaded Fordyce.

With good company, plenty of hot wassail and Mr. Goulding singing Christmas carols from beside the piano, Elizabeth found herself to be almost cheerful. Especially with her aunt and uncle due to arrive the following morning, it was impossible for her to be downhearted in the slightest. If she forgot that this was the last Christmas that Jane would be among them as a sister and not a wife, and if she forgot that her father was already becoming rather indolent in his parenting once more, still it looked like it was truly going to be a very happy holiday. With so many reasons to be optimistic, she found herself smiling warmly at everyone surrounding her.

All six of the Gardiners arrived promptly the following morning, the children rushing across the yard before the coach had even stopped, collecting snow and laughing gleefully. Her Aunt Gardiner alighted from the carriage shaking her head but still smiling; the sight warmed Elizabeth completely. And her uncle looking her over proudly— all seemed to be right that day.

All was it should be, that is until the post arrived— a letter from Lydia asking to be remembered at Christmas (which Mr. Bennet could not deny), a letter from Charlotte sharing her happy news, and a letter for Miss Elizabeth Bennet written in an unfamiliar female hand posted from Derbyshire.

Elizabeth's hand shook as she took the envelope— her mother was not terribly concerned with her just then as she was otherwise occupied questioning Aunt Gardiner about the latest fashions from London, her head full of plans for Jane's trousseau— but Aunt Gardiner noticed as Elizabeth's face paled and saw the poor girl quickly excuse herself, the letter clutched to her breast.

Mr. Darcy— definitely not a topic Elizabeth had wanted to dwell on, she had almost been able to forget all about him! She had not thought of him for the last few moments at least. And now a letter from Derbyshire? It was impossible not to dwell on him once more, foolish girl that she was!

She opened the letter, already expecting, already knowing. There at the bottom, the signature, _Georgiana Darcy_, her only acquaintance in Derbyshire; the world would be so cruel!

_Dear Miss Bennet,_

_Happy Christmas! I have lately decided that this is my favorite holiday, particularly at Pemberley. The trees are all white capped, the ponds have frozen over, and the halls are decorated with holly boughs and juniper branches. _

_Our Chef Andre has also taken up the challenge, cooking delicacies we could only dream of. My brother says that spring cannot come too soon, for such food surely will make him fat._

Elizabeth's heart pounded at the mention of Mr. Darcy. What did Miss Darcy mean by sending such a letter?

_I am enjoying the season playing Christmas carols and even putting together baskets for the poor. Another of my brother's suggestions._

Now that Elizabeth knew him to be the best of men, she mentally chided herself for having ever thought otherwise. The kindest of men, of course he would make such a suggestion. If things had been different… But nothing good would come to her from such a wish.

_How are you spending your holidays? I envy you your large family, it must be a delight to share Christmas with so many others. Though I wouldn't trade Fitzwilliam for the world, I would truly like to have a sister._

_My brother says that the post is ready to go out for the day, I must close here,_

_Wishing you well,_

_Georgiana Darcy._

It was a good letter, Elizabeth decided, as light and pleasing as one acquaintance would write to another. And she was terrified to answer it. She had already sent out her own Christmas wishes, never once considering sending one to Derbyshire to the shy young woman she had met over the summer. It would be too daring, too impertinent— even Elizabeth Bennet had her limits!

But now that the letter was here, friendly yet curious, she didn't feel that she could leave it unanswered. At least not for too long! She wished for good sense, good conversation, and most of all, a reason to leave the letter abandoned on the desk and forgotten.

Never could she forget it, though— it hung in the back of her mind as she tried to speak with her aunt and uncle; it mocked her as she took her turn at the pianoforte. It would not even leave her be as her family attended the Longs' Christmas fete. Well there was nothing for it then. She would have to post a reply immediately!

* * *

><p>Unlike Miss Bennet, Georgiana Darcy was not made miserable by a letter. To some extent, the same could not be said for her brother. He delivered Elizabeth's letter to her in the parlor where she sat beside the large fir tree and watched carefully as she broke the seal.<p>

A small smile graced her face immediately. Closer he inched, seemingly intent on the tree, one particular ornament appearing to hold his entire focus, though out of the corner of his eye he watched as her eyes alit with merriment and she devoured every word.

His neck craning slightly to the left trying to see some of the words on the page, he was startled when his sister spoke, "If you wish to read it, Brother, I will be finished momentarily."

"I wouldn't dare trespass on your private correspondence," was his stiff reply.

Georgiana looked at him a complete picture of innocence, "With your prior claim of acquaintance with the lady, I do believe that you would enjoy reading it as well."

Brother and sister watched each other carefully as the clock on the mantle ticked a full minute; then Darcy nodded once before dutifully focusing on the tree— fully this time— his hands held tightly behind his back, his fingers furiously fiddling with his signet ring.

Finally, finally Georgiana handed him the pages and mercifully gave him his privacy. "I'm off to speak to Andre about dinner this evening." The door had barely closed behind her when Darcy began his ravenous perusal of the words of his beloved.

_Dear Miss Darcy,_

_Yes, I suppose Christmas is much different when you have four sisters as opposed to one elder brother! If you would like, I suppose I might share one of my sisters with you. Never my dear Jane, though._

_Or perhaps you might prefer one of my nieces or nephews?_

_You are in luck, for just this morning my Aunt Gardiner was very much tempted to give her eldest daughter away! Poor child, she is much like me when I was her age, always about outdoors, always getting into mishaps. With the sensibleness of both of her parent,s I am sure that she will rapidly outgrow it, but until then it is a particular trial that we all must bear._

_It seems that she wanted so much to gather pinecones. While it was fundamentally a serviceable plan, for just this morning my sisters and I were discussing making a floral centerpiece and gathering the pinecones with which to do so ourselves, she did not bother to discover that the pinecones in question would have been much easier to find on the ground under the snow as opposed to the highest branches of one of our pine trees. Neither did she consider the prickliness of the tree, nor indeed the family of squirrels that had chosen to secrete themselves in the higher boughs for the winter. _

_Perhaps it is our fault, as we hastily told my aunt when greeted by a scratched, rumpled, and terrified little girl. We should have been more forthcoming it seems! _

_After a long bath to thaw her frozen toes and a hearty bowl of warm broth, Maggie seems to have returned to her normal cheerful self, though I fear my aunt may never recover. _

_Other than that episode, Christmas here passes as it always does, a bit loud at times, our own preferred local delicacies always gracing our table, and probably a bit too much rum punch! Unfortunately, we do not have a frozen pond, only a stream that stubbornly refuses to succumb to Old Man Winter. I imagine your pond to be perfect for ice skating. It has been many years since I have indulged in such a past time, and I was never very good at it. _

_Wishing you better luck than I, and a happy holiday season,_

_Elizabeth Bennet_

He read every word, savored the way she dotted her _i_'s and the slightly carefree curvature of her _f_'s. It had been a very good letter, so very like her, too. Not once had it taken on the airs of those coy females that occasionally wrote to his sister hoping to gain some footing with him. She hadn't mentioned him once, nor even eluded to him. That did not deter Darcy, but instead, her letter gave him hope, that elusive feeling he so desired. How happy she seemed! Much like the young woman he remembered before all this business of his aunt intruded.

He'd had much time to think on that as well. He had already sent a letter to Andrew thanking him for his troubles. There had been no need to press for silence, no scandal to hide. Nothing in his heart, nothing in Andrew's words suggested otherwise. The entirety of the blame lay with his aunt, he was certain now. She was the cause of it all, not in the slightest should Elizabeth be held culpable; it was Lady Catherine's own conceit, her own anger that had led to her demise.

He shuddered. Such emotions had ruled her in the end. Not long ago he had been like her, a prideful creature so caught up in appearances that he had forgotten everything else. And so he would have remained had it not been for Elizabeth. He could never think ill of her. Never!

* * *

><p>Another letter came from Derbyshire for Elizabeth. Another painful letter, more so for nearly every other word seemed to be of Mr. Darcy! The presents he had acquired for his sister, the new sheet music that he urged her to learn, even a few visits to the pond for some ice skating. Of course the most distressing of all was learning how adept Mr. Darcy was at the sport and a gentle hint from Miss Darcy that perhaps all Elizabeth needed was the right teacher to excel. Elizabeth would have accused her of matchmaking if the words on the page had not been so very much only innocent ramblings.<p>

She should not have answered the first letter, she knew that, for now she and Georgiana had what could be termed _a correspondence_ and once it was severed— for it would surely be severed when Mr. Darcy learned the truth of what had occurred between her and his aunt— poor Miss Darcy would suffer. At least her brother would be there. Elizabeth hoped that in time she would be forgot by both siblings. Such a similar wish was foolish to make for her own circumstances.

There was nothing to be done but respond and so another letter was sent from Longbourn, full of lightness though written with a heavy heart.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The moment the snow began to melt, Darcy made his plans to return to Netherfield. Indeed the skating pond was still solid and the fields still frozen but Darcy's patience had reached its end. To see Elizabeth again!

And of course the wedding of Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet was clearly a motivating force. The pair had selected early spring to exchange their nuptials. Why that was little more than a month away. He would not wish to be in any way remiss in tendering his sincerest congratulations personally.

He contemplated the last letter Georgiana had received from Hertfordshire. It had been so light and cheerful and he would have ordered the horses if not for the late season storm gathering its forces outside the windows that same evening. Elizabeth's words had been all that was alluring, how could he not wish to be at her side?

Each of Elizabeth's letters were by now well creased as he read them again and again until he could almost recite them from memory. She would forever remain the most captivating woman of his acquaintance. There was one point on which he could not rectify his thoughts. Elizabeth never mentioned him in her letters, never even alluded to him. Was that why her letters were so cheerful? Had she put him completely out of her mind? He hoped not.

Rather instead he hoped that it meant that she had finally recovered from his Aunt's visit, had put the whole situation behind her. _He_ hardly thought of Lady Catherine now, save in conjunction with Elizabeth, hoping she was no longer in pain.

Over the ensuing winter months he had heard once from his Aunt Matlock, the wedding between his two cousins was to be late in the summer, a quiet ceremony at Rosing's parish, his cousin the Bishop presiding. Darcy sighed. Though she had asked rather slyly about a certain young woman in Hertfordshire, he understood her curiosity but could not in all honesty answer any of her questions. No matter what he wished, there was still so little he was sure of.

If he did not leave soon for Hertfordshire there would be little time for him to spend there. Before the wedding perhaps a few weeks, and that would be the extent of it, for certainly it would be impolite to stay after Bingley said his vows, particularly as Bingley was taking his bride away from Netherfield and to Bath for their honeymoon. There would only be those few weeks of Elizabeth's company, enough time to meet occasionally, but not enough if he was to properly court her as he was so desperate to do! His mind mulled over the possibilities for them to meet oftener. His ruminations were interrupted by the supper gong and he quickly rose to find his sister and escort her into the dining room.

Georgiana seemed to have grown taller over the winter, or perhaps it was a greater confidence that had her standing tall as he greeted her. No longer did she act the shrinking violet and he for the first time realized that the letters from Miss Elizabeth must have affected her just as they had him. Elizabeth wrote to Georgiana, solely to Georgiana. Why had he not seen it before!

He didn't just need Elizabeth, Georgiana needed Elizabeth. For the first time in her young life Georgiana had a friend who was interested in her, only her. He had been selfish, wishing to hear Elizabeth speak of him. Instead she was acting as a true friend would, writing of things that would interest his sister never once attempting to glean information about him like a coy society miss would have. He had not considered Georgiana in making his plans for Hertfordshire. Perhaps he should. Surely she would like to see her new friend.

His sister cocked an eyebrow at his long silence.

"How were your studies today?" he finally managed.

"Mrs. Annesley says I am showing marked improvement in my French and my embroidery is very well indeed."

"Good." He helped her into her seat and then sat at her left. "And does Mrs. Annesley think do you suppose that you could take a small vacation provided that you still find the time each day for some personal study?"

"Fitzwilliam?" Her voice trembled anxiously. Now that spring was coming and traveling was safer with the snow melting it would be what they had long spoken of: the time for her to make a debut appearance in London.

Darcy unfolded his napkin over his lap, oblivious to his sister's disquiet. "Bingley's wedding is in a few weeks, would you care to join me in Hertfordshire?"

Her eyes lit up, "Oh!," A large smile split her face. "I should like that above all things! After so many months of sharing letters with Miss Bennet, I long to see her. She makes her home sound so wonderful."

"Better than Pemberley?" Darcy lightly teased.

"Of course not! Just different. I should very much like to see Hertfordshire."

"Excellent. I will make the necessary arrangements if you will but tell Mrs. Annesley." His sister almost grown up, should be able to handle such a task. "Mrs. Annesley has mentioned one of her daughter's is increasing," he added. "Perhaps she would like to use the time to visit her family."

"What happy news. Yes, I will tell her directly."

* * *

><p>Longbourn was in an uproar and had been from the moment that Mrs. Bennet had consulted a calendar and realized that instead of the six weeks she had expected there were only a miniscule four remaining to prepare for the social event of the season, her daughter's wedding to Mr. Bingley of Netherfield and five-thousand a year!<p>

There was a trip to London to purchase the necessary trousseau, the menu to plan, flowers to be got and the church to decorate. If only her daughters were more willing to come to her aid. Elizabeth, particularly, for that girl still had no viable suitors after rejecting Mr. Collins and Mrs. Bennet almost despaired of her. If she wouldn't marry Mr. Collins she should at least be useful. Where was that girl? Always disappearing when she was needed most!

Elizabeth was currently at her writing desk answering another missive from Charlotte. Poor Charlotte! She had already entered her confinement and was finding inactivity at the Hunsford Parish to be tedious. Mr. Collins was already proving to be a nervous parent, there was little now that escaped his notice particularly because he was certain that Charlotte carried his heir. The fire was pronounced equally too hot and too cold for his wife to endure, the meat too tough or too rich it would surely upset her stomach! Poor Charlotte had seen her efficient housekeeping reduced to a moronic mess now that she was entirely restricted to her room. Elizabeth felt for her friend, but was equally relieved that she did not share such a fate, married to a man of such limited understanding. What little she could do, she did, writing to her friend as often as she could, sharing amusing tales from her home county whenever she had a spare moment.

"Lizzy! Where is that girl?" She heard her mother call up to her at the base of the stairs.

It might be rhetorical in nature but Elizabeth knew better than to not answer. She spared herself a single eye roll and pushed her letter aside. There was to be no rest it seemed in this house until Jane was married. Poor Jane, accosted by her mother far oftener than Elizabeth, usually serene was tiring under the attention. Their father had finally come to Jane's rescue and sent her and her young man out for a walk with both Mary and Kitty for chaperonage. That left only herself available to deal with Mrs. Bennet's wedding preparations.

She would do her duty quietly, but only for Jane. The next afternoon Mr. Bingley would have to remain at Netherfield to welcome the first of his guests, and poor Jane would once more have to suffer the nervous attentions of Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth had not asked who was arriving at Netherfield for fear of the answer. Her impression of the superior sisters had never improved and she did not relish the opportunity to meet again with the two women who had thought so little of her sister and her family. Her opinion of them had plummeted further still for Bingley had been alone all winter, unable to entertain his neighbors as he would have wished for he did not have a hostess. Though he did not admit to it, he did not have to for all to know the cause; obviously his sisters had been unwilling to offer their services. They would come eventually though perhaps it would be the following afternoon?

Of the other possible arrivals Elizabeth tried not to think of one in particular, for surely _he_ would come for the wedding of one of his closest friends.

* * *

><p>Darcy and his sister arrived at Netherfield mid-day, here the snow was completely gone the siblings saw and even a few of the trees were daring to bud. Bingley awaited them on the stairs, his affability ever fixed, "Darcy, Miss Darcy, so glad you could come."<p>

Darcy greeted his friend, a bit surprised to see that he was alone at Netherfield. He smiled grimly to himself, Bingley's sisters were making a grave error remaining so aloof from the proceedings. He could only hope it would not adversely affect his friend.

"Nervous Bingley?" He asked his friend instead.

"Restless is more like it." Bingley grinned. "To have to wait three more weeks still. I am glad you are here, I have a particular favor to ask of both of you. In particular Miss Darcy."

"Of me?" Miss Darcy eyes widened.

"Well enough of that now," he watched as his footman gathered the Darcys' bags remarkably slower than was his usual pace. The man was obviously hoping to overhear a bit of gossip! "Let us retire inside. It is still cold out, I had Bates light a fire in the parlor." Bingley offered Georgiana his arm and led his friends into his home.

It had been the first time Georgiana had seen Netherfield and Bingley offered her a short tour to which she said all that was appropriate. Bingley responded modestly, "I'm afraid I have done little with it. My previous stay was so short and now that I am to marry I wish to wait to make any changes until the future Mrs. Bingley takes her residence."

After the housekeeper had brought in the tea, Bingley settled himself near both of his guests, "I hoped I have not worried you with my request of a favor, I assure you I will understand if you are unwilling or unable." He tugged at his hair for a moment, "It seems that both of my sisters are much engaged in town and will not be joining me here until possibly a day or two before the ceremony. I have been agreeably engaged by so many neighbors these past several months it would be truly remiss of me if I did not offer the same hospitality. It need not be anything terribly formal, perhaps an afternoon tea or an evening party. I would need a hostess and with you and Miss Darcy here so early I instantly thought of Miss Darcy."

Darcy looked towards his sister, her face had paled. "It need not be any different than when we had a few of our neighbors over for a Christmas Celebration," he tried to reassure her. "You are already acquainted with a some of the guests, Miss Bennet and her sisters will be there. And it will help you once we get to town to already have some practice with such things."

Bingley had noticed her nervousness as well, "Not right away," he placated. "Perhaps after you have met more of the neighbors?"

Darcy nodded encouragingly and Georgiana put off her worries and accepted as gracefully as she could.

"And Darcy, I have something to share which should interest you, we are invited to tea tomorrow at the Bennets, and very likely supper." Bingley smiled knowingly at his friend and Darcy tried to keep his cheeks from reddening in embarrassment.

Georgiana pretended not to notice.

The next day, Darcy was not the only one to dress carefully, Georgiana tried on three different dresses before finally returning to the first at the express recommendation of her maid, "It makes you look very much a country lady, miss." That was what she wanted, it would not do to insult the Bennets by appearing in any way unexpected or too far above her company.

Bingley kept them suitably amused during the carriage ride, or at least Georgiana was so, Darcy grew quieter as Longbourn drew closer and took to ever increasingly staring out the window, seemingly ignoring his companions. They both knew him well enough to not press him and for that he was grateful. Nearly five months! Yes, it had been that long since he had seen her. Sometimes he wondered if he even remembered exactly what she looked like.

In no time at all the carriage stopped at Longbourn and Bingley and the Darcys were shown into the Bennets' sitting room, and he had his first glimpse of his beloved in nearly half a year.

She sat with her sister Jane pouring over the latest Fashion Gazette just out of London, her dress gingham and long sleeved, her slippers a matching blue.

"Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy, madam," Mrs. Hill announced the visitors. Elizabeth along with all her sisters raised her head and though she looked at him it was all too brief to determine how she felt about his presence. She smiled easily at Georgiana but did not approach.

"Mr. Bingley, how wonderful that you are here! Mr. Darcy it is good of you to come." Darcy managed a smile even in the face of the barely veiled hostility.

His sister looked at him alarmed and Darcy quickly remembered his manners, "May I introduce my sister to you. Georgiana, this is Mrs. Bennet."

"A pleasure, Miss Darcy." Georgiana was quickly evaluated; Mrs. Bennet's eyes took in every bit of her raiment, the patterned muslin, the coil of ribbon in her hair. "What a beautiful dress, Miss Darcy, do come in.

"These are my daughters, Jane, lately engaged to Mr. Bingley. Kitty, Mary, and my second eldest Elizabeth." Georgiana was perplexed by the general coolness of Mrs. Bennet's tone when speaking of Elizabeth.

Darcy wondered that Mrs. Bennet did not know the relationship between his sister and Elizabeth. Then again, he often wondered at Mrs. Bennet's ignorance of her second and in his opinion far superior daughter.

"Miss Bennet, I am happy to see you again." Georgiana took the seat beside Elizabeth and immediately Elizabeth engaged her in conversation.

Mrs. Bennet looked flabbergasted for a moment at the intimacy, "When did you become acquainted with Miss Darcy, Lizzy?" Though it was not a relationship she felt best for her daughter to nurture, she could not publically dismiss a young women so much her own daughters' superior. Oh if only they had been able to have a son!

"We met when I toured Derbyshire with my Uncle and Aunt Gardiner," Elizabeth calmly answered though internally all was in turmoil. He was here and he would be here for the near future! It was both pleasure and pain.

Mrs. Bennet seemed to briefly consider this before moving to speak again, but whatever she had meant to say was quickly overlooked as Mr. Bingley and his fiancé drew her away united in their eagerness to distract her, even if it was to be regaled with her latest wedding woes.

Mr. Darcy she ignored completely. That gentleman quietly selected a seat strategically placed near enough to his sister and Miss Elizabeth to catch every word of their conversation without the stigma of being thought an eavesdropper.

"I have tried out that new piano piece you suggested," Elizabeth had just said. "My Aunt and Uncle were kind enough to acquire it for me from town."

"Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner?"

Elizabeth nodded. "The very same."

"And how are they? I will never forget Mrs. Gardiner, she was very kind to me."

"Only perhaps because you deserved such kindness." Georgiana blushed at such praise.

Elizabeth tactfully changed the subject, "I must say though that I think Beethoven to be beyond me. I cannot seem to match the intensity, or the technique. My sister Mary has taken to it though. When my Uncle and Aunt come for the wedding they have promised to bring her a second piece written by him."

"When are they due to arrive?"

"Hopefully within the fortnight."

"And, will they bring their children with them?" Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth immediately stiffened, so focused she had been on Miss Darcy, she had not noticed the brother's approach, "Yes, for they rarely travel without them. They particularly don't like to leave them in London and Jane is their favorite cousin."

Mr. Darcy smiled at such verbosity, "Not yourself."

"I…" now it was Elizabeth's turn to color. "I have not Jane's patience and sweet nature."

"Anyone who knew you could not agree."

Elizabeth's eyes refused to rise from her lap. "Thank you."

After a moment of awkward silence it was Georgiana who finally spoke, "Miss Bennet, I read the book you recommended." She did not say that her brother had personally added it to their library long ago as one of his own treasured favorites and had been most pleased to see her reading it. Though she was young she had sensed the unease between her two companions, particularly Miss Bennet. She did not wish to cause her new friend any more unease.

"And how did you like it?" Though Elizabeth's cheeks were still pink, she was at least smiling again.

"I liked it very well indeed. I particularly enjoyed how droll the narrator was." It was the right thing to say and several minutes were taken up in a spirited discussion of the finer points of literature between the two women.

Darcy did not contribute, rather he was willing to act as an observer, heartened by the way Elizabeth treated his sister as if she was a most valued friend instead of a young girl several years her junior.

"And have you read Milton, Miss Bennet?" Georgiana asked.

Darcy tensed, Milton was not a subject that he felt his sister should ever discuss publically particularly if she wanted to be a success among the ever judgmental ton. Such a thing could label her as a bluestocking or worse! He hoped Miss Bennet's opinion of his sister was not damaged irrevocably.

But Elizabeth only smiled, "'Ten paces huge, he back recoil'd.' I always enjoyed his phrasing of that particular line." She leaned closer to Georgiana, her eyes twinkling, "My father has always left his library door open to all of us to read what we so desired. He knows me so well yet was still surprised to find me reading Paradise Lost. I'm afraid most gently raised women would not consider him a viable subject for their study."

Darcy was flabbergasted-Elizabeth had taken his worry about his sister's reading habits and with gentle subtlety pointed out that perhaps Milton was not the best to discuss in sitting rooms!

Georgiana withdrew slightly, recognizing the gentle hint as well. Elizabeth changed the subject quickly once more this time to stories of her own misadventures as a child and within moments Georgiana was smiling again, her worry all forgot.

There was a peculiar story involving a goat and a crate of apples that Georgiana found especially amusing, "And so," Elizabeth concluded with pretended mortification, "I was never allowed to pick apples again though I still maintain that that particular goat had some personal vendetta against my person."

Georgiana giggled lowly and Darcy grinned. Elizabeth was momentarily discomposed by the appearance of dimples on each of his cheeks. _My goodness but he was an excessively attractive man! No wonder he smiled so little,_ she decided, _he would have the entire female population of England in full swoon at his feet if he was more gregarious._ She herself was feeling a bit faint; very uncommon from her usual steadiness.

"My brother once slipped a frog into Cousin Celia's chambers at Pemberley," Georgiana shared then, breaking her friend from her reveries. "She is our cousin on my father's side," she clarified. "She has an aversion to all things slimy, wet or cold. Only the persuasion of my mother and a thorough apology from my brother kept her from leaving immediately."

Darcy's mouth fell open," Where did you hear about that?"

"Cousin Andrew," Georgiana admitted between giggles.

"Of course!" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "The frog was meant for him, Miss Bennet, he had been teasing one of my favorite puppies that morning and I had promised certain retribution."

Elizabeth looked between the two siblings, "I gather some kind of mistake was made?"

"How was I to know that Cousin Celia had been persuaded to exchange rooms with Andrew," Darcy grumbled.

Georgiana ignored her brother and gleefully shared the rest of the story, "Cousin Andrew said he had never heard anything outside of a barn make such a noise. My cousin is a very proper lady married to an MP now and though she claims that she would never comport herself so, Cousin Andrew swears upon finding the frog she sounded just like a strangled hen!"

Elizabeth's delighted laughter nearly shook the room with its intensity and Darcy found himself smiling again despite his embarrassment. He would gladly allow Georgiana to tell all the most mortifying experiences from his childhood (and as many of them involved his cousin Andrew, she probably knew most of them) if Elizabeth's laughter was to be the result!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The harvest season in Hertfordshire, its being a county so far south, began very much earlier than that of Derbyshire. While the Pemberley soil was still frozen, the gentlemen farmers of Meryton as that particular area is of interest to some, were already preparing their fields for planting.

It was in some ways a detriment to Bingley, for though _he_ had ample horses both to attend to his plantings and to visit his neighbors, others-namely the Bennets-were not so fortunate as to be able to pay calls so readily. Georgiana had gotten on so well with Miss Elizabeth Bennet that she had desired to invite her and her eldest sister for tea. Mr. Bingley, being better informed, knew this to be an impossibility. "Mr. Bennet will surely need the carriage horses in the field," he glumly admitted before taking another helping of potatoes.

Georgiana's face fell; such a thing she had never thought to consider. She was not presumptuous enough to hold her new friends lower social standing against them, but she _was_ intelligent enough to see the distinction.

She knew, or had been fairly certain, that her brother harbored tender feelings for Miss Bennet, and her young heart had declared it to be the most romantic thing in the world. But to see the Bennets' situation was an altogether different thing, for not even Georgiana missed the vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet or the slight shabbiness of their sitting room. The carpets were faded, the cushions old, the tea service a bit chipped. Mr. Bennet might well be a gentleman, but he was not on the same level as her brother.

And her brother would not have missed the obvious differences. Mr. Bingley's marrying Miss Jane Bennet would raise their circumstances somewhat but was it enough for her brother? Every sense told her that he admired Miss Elizabeth, but as she had never seen him court any lady of his acquaintance, she could not be certain as to the exact level of his affections.

Georgiana looked towards him now, he had risen and was looking out the window, in the direction of the tenant farms of Netherfield. His hands were clasped behind him, his fingers furiously fiddling with his signet ring. She wondered what he contemplated so deeply.

She started when he suddenly spoke, "Are you for the fields this morning, Bingley?"

Bingley stopped mid bite, his eggs hanging precariously at the edge of his fork, "I had not…that is…I had planned…Do you think such a thing is warranted?" While Bingley had recently grown much in his own confidence due to his engagement to a worthy woman he was still discovering the intricacies of gentleman farming.

"Perhaps not in later years," Darcy replied though he still personally visited his own tenant farms at regular intervals, "but it would be wise to oversee the process for a few seasons at least. You would learn much from how the farmers work the land and what yields they expect."

"Well, my wise friend, I will defer to you," Bingley replied after some thought. "I had considered visiting Longbourn this morning."

Darcy turned away from the window and looked towards his sister, knowing he would need to squire Bingley to the fields, wondering how she felt about being alone left for the morning at Netherfield. Her neck was curved down towards her plate as she cut up a piece of ham into delicate slices. Hopefully, she would forgive him for the imposed loneliness when he offered her his next words, "And perhaps our own carriage could be offered to bring the Miss Bennets for tea this afternoon? What say you, Georgiana?" He smiled at her affectionately.

Georgiana could have not been happier, for not only had her brother solved the dilemma of inviting the Miss Bennets for tea, he had shown her his heart had surely been touched by Miss Elizabeth Bennet. For he would not have offered such a thing if he was not half in love already!

"Thank you, brother!" Her feelings almost overwhelmed her.

Bingley was frowning, not wanting to miss a chance at seeing his angel. "And if we leave soon, Charles," Darcy offered, "I believe we can return in time for tea ourselves."

Bingley threw his napkin onto the table a rose immediately, "Then I shall be ready directly!"

Mr. Darcy smiled at his friend before turning once more to Georgiana. "And I assume my dear that you have a note to write?"

* * *

><p>The invitation to tea was readily accepted by the two eldest Bennets, and since their youngest sister, save one, found the strength within her to complain about the lack of her own invitation and then pout rather fixedly when she did not get her way, the girls rushed through their toilettes and arrived at Netherfield a quarter of an hour early for tea.<p>

They were not expected in such a timely manner, but they were, nonetheless, welcomed by Georgiana who had rushed through her own preparations and found herself at half past one with hardly a task to keep herself occupied. Mrs. Annesley had allowed her an unexpected vacation from her studies as there were no supplies for watercolours or embroidery in the bachelor abode, and the library was still sadly derelict.

So it was with a great amount of pleasure that Georgiana greeted the Miss Bennets. "Miss Elizabeth! And Miss Bennet! How wonderful that you could come."

Elizabeth was already flushing at their early arrival-the carriage ride had passed more expeditiously than was its usual wont-and she smiled tightly in her embarrassment. Jane, as was typical, did not have any such compunctions and so greeted their hostess as calmly as always, "Miss Darcy, thank you for inviting us for tea."

Georgiana much bolstered by Jane's gentle manners freely answered, "I'm afraid you find me all alone here at present. My brother and Mr. Bingley have gone on estate business this morning and have not yet returned." She watched her friend carefully, but whether this news affected Elizabeth at all, she could not tell.

After inviting her guests to be seated, Georgiana asked, "My brother was kind enough to take me into Meryton last week. I must say you have a most charming bookshop."

"No doubt due to my father's own influence," Elizabeth said lightly. "I do believe that if it weren't so he would open his own shop in town, and poor Mr. Thomas would have to suffer the competition." The women all giggled companionably.

"Did you find something you particularly liked, Miss Darcy?" asked Jane.

"Ah yes, there was one new book, a novel. I'm afraid I finished it rather quickly though and now must wait for another foray into Meryton…"

Her voice died away when a loud clamoring begun abruptly outside the room: riding whips dropped, coats shed, and heavy boots crossed Netherfield's substantial hall. The heads of all three ladies swiveled towards the disturbance. Bingley's voice sounded clearly, "I'm deeply sorry, Darcy, I did not see that ditch."

"Are you certain? For the way you seemed to plow right into it said otherwise." Darcy's voice was tense and irritated.

"I'm also deeply sorry about your coat," the boots were nearing the sitting room where the three women sat, increasingly perplexed by the conversation they were overhearing.

"You will be particularly sorry if Mrs. Nicholls sees the mess you are making of her rugs. Bingley, where are you going?"

"I'm just going to pop in the sitting room and tell Miss Darcy that we will be a little late…" At least that was what he initially intended. The door opened, Bingley entered all ready to make his apologies, but whatever he had thought to say was quickly lost on coming face to face with his beloved. "Jane!" Jane did not say a word. Her eyes were riveted on her fiancé as he stood covered from head to toe in a greyish green mud. A large purpling bruise colored his cheek and there was a single blade of grass affixed to his nose. "I mean, Miss Bennet!" Bingley belatedly corrected himself.

"Bingley?" Darcy called. "This is no time for jokes. I…" Darcy himself entered and stopped dead. There was a dreadful silence as all three women looked between the two men. Though Darcy was not nearly so filthy as Bingley, he was still much out of place in the tidy sitting room with his boots two inches deep in mud and the front of his waist coat and riding breeches marred with the same.

Georgiana found her voice first, "Brother! Mr. Bingley! As you can see, our guests have already arrived."

Neither Darcy nor Bingley could form a response, the attentions of each were focused exclusively on a particular lady. Bingley, the accident all forgot at the sight of his angel, was all happiness; Darcy, all abject misery. That she should see him in such a state! Would there be no end to the humiliation he would endure?

"The tea has not arrived yet, brother," Georgiana further coaxed. Darcy looked away from Elizabeth, who was trying to look anywhere but at him and failing, to focus on his sister.

"Tea?"

"Yes. The Miss Bennets and I are having a very good conversation; I was thinking that I would like to have the tea delayed. Perhaps an hour would do?"

Even in his befuddled state he understood her gentle hint. "Yes, well," he said as he clamped a hand on Bingley's shoulder. "Come along Bungles, I think it would be wise for us to take some time to refresh ourselves."

He pulled Bingley away rather quickly and the women were left alone again. Jane blinked a few times. "Bungles?"

Georgiana looked away from the door, "My brother occasionally calls Mr. Bingley that. I have no idea why, though. Something from their university days I believe. I have never had the courage to ask."

"Well," said Miss Elizabeth impishly, "after being treated to such a sight, I most definitely have the courage to ask. They cannot deny us!"

Instead of taking an hour to bathe, Bingley returned in just under half, his hair wet and some mud still stubbornly affixed under his nails, but he would not miss an opportunity to be with his Jane, away from Mrs. Bennet and her hovering ways. Darcy was gone slightly longer, for it took him some ten minutes to select a proper waistcoat, both in terms of proper color and the best cut to reassure all present of his almost always impeccable taste.

Bingley had barely completed the perfunctory civilities when Darcy entered. Moving into the room unobtrusively proved successful, for Miss Jane Bennet had just begun to question her fiancé as to the presence of the bruise on his cheek. "I encountered a tree limb," Bingley admitted sheepishly.

A small cough escaped from Elizabeth as she desperately tried to regain her composure. Bingley looked at her alarmed.

"And the mud?" Jane asked.

Bingley turned crimson. "It seems there is a particular portion of the estate that holds water rather discreetly throughout the entirety of the growing season."

"And you found it," Elizabeth managed to choke out.

Bingley nodded once and turned to Mr. Darcy for his aid. Darcy raised his eyebrows. "I'm rather afraid that such an area will be rendered unusable for farming."

A hush settled across the group, and it was with a great amount of relief that Mrs. Nicholls arrived with the tea some moments later. "Ah good," said Bingley gratefully. "The tea is here."

Jane rose from her seat to make a cup up for her fiancé, something she had greatly enjoyed since becoming engaged. "Can I prepare a cup for you, Bungles?" she asked rather timidly.

Bingley's jaw dropped open in shock, "I…that is…yes." Jane poured him a generous serving.

"Sugar, Bungles?" Elizabeth pounced, her mouth curving playfully.

"Er…yes."

"Lemon, Bungles?" Georgiana asked, getting in on the game.

"I say, how do you all know about that?" Bingley finally managed, his entire visage red from the tips of his ears to the knot of his cravat at his throat.

"Mr. Darcy was kind enough to inform us of it when the two of you burst rather unceremoniously into the sitting room," Elizabeth explained sweetly.

Mr. Bingley turned towards his oldest friend who had the grace to blush under the penetrating glare. "Darcy, I had hoped to pass myself off with some credit…"

Mr. Darcy opened and shut his mouth a couple of times perturbed at the sudden negative attention from the usual jovial Bingley.

"Mr. Darcy, perhaps you would care to elaborate?" A single eyebrow raised above twinkling fine eyes and Darcy found the story bursting out of him.

* * *

><p>As the moon waned that evening over Longbourn the two sisters were still to be found together, their bedtime preparations long completed. "And can you imagine that they referred to him as such all the time?" Jane asked yet again.<p>

"I will say it was tolerably cruel of all of those boys to label Mr. Bingley so." After hearing of Bingley's negative experiences at boarding school Elizabeth did not feel so sad any longer at having been bereft of such an education herself.

"And that they should continue even during University…" Jane of course could not imagine anyone being so cruel, especially to her dear Charles.

"I always wondered how they became friends."

"Who, Lizzy?"

"Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, of course! He said once that Mr. Darcy was intimidating because of his large stature. I suppose that was what daunted those 'gentleman' into silence." There was no mistaking how she felt about such men that teased their peers so cruelly.

"Charles seemed rather upset," Jane was still worried.

"Poor Mr. Bingley, who thinks so well of the world in general. I suppose he doesn't like to be teased about something he cannot help," Elizabeth soothed.

Jane, seated on Lizzy's bed, began fiddling with the worn lace of the counterpane, wrapping one loose string around a finger. Elizabeth observed her, watching as Jane focused on her task, her mouth pursing. Her sister had something on her mind. Elizabeth had an inkling of what that could be, having noticed both Mr. Bingley and Jane watching her almost exclusively that very same afternoon as they had whispered together. "We are having dinner at Netherfield this Friday," Jane finally offered conversationally.

Elizabeth smiled. "Has mother already set the house on its ear trying to prepare you for it? She couldn't have you being outshined by the Longs or Maria Lucas!"

"Oh Lizzy!" Jane shook her head.

Elizabeth joined Jane on the bed and tucked a shawl around her shoulders. "As if that could ever happen."

"Mama just wants us to be happy," Jane scolded gently.

Elizabeth looked away, towards the windows where the light of the moon shone glorious. "Yes, I suppose that is true." Her mother would always be her mother-silly and, of course, mercenary. Jane, with her perpetually good heart, would never admit such a thing of her parent, and Elizabeth loved her all the more for it, though she would never truly understand.

Jane tugged her own shawl tightly over her shoulders, rearranging it carefully. "Lizzy?" Elizabeth looked up at the seriousness of her sister's voice. Jane was gazing at her determinedly now, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "Are you happy?"

"I…what?" She shook her head and looked away again. "Of course! Of course I am happy. It looks to be a lovely spring. You know how I feel about _that_ season!"

Jane indulged her, "The roses look like they will be very showy this year." It was true, Elizabeth had stubbornly pruned them all back the previous autumn and the branches were already sagging under the weight of the blooms.

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "But you do not want to talk about the roses."

"No Lizzy." Jane took a breath. She and Charles had discussed this thoroughly, but she was still finding it rather difficult deciding where to begin. "Do you still hear from Charlotte?"

Elizabeth's brows drew together confusedly. "I had a letter from her just yesterday. She feels her time is near."

"I remember not so long ago, before she was married, speaking with you of her situation." Jane took a deep breath hoping she was wrong about her doubts, "You were so adamant that she should have chosen love over a marriage for more pecuniary reasons."

Elizabeth nodded. "I still am adamant. She will have a child to love and care for and she insists that it makes her happy, that she will be happy, but all her words seem so forced, the emotions behind them so opposite! She, I fear, did not know what her husband truly was before they wed. She always said in moments of jest that it was wise not to know too much about one's intended." She grimaced. "At least I always thought it was jesting. I can tell you, Jane, only you, I worry that I was right and Charlotte is miserable even as she tells herself that she is not."

Jane nodded, her eyes filled with tears in tender regard for their friend. "When Mr. Bingley left…" Elizabeth moved towards her, but Jane lifted a hand. "No, it is alright, Lizzy. I am all recovered." She dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. "I am almost three and twenty, Lizzy, and I am getting married to the man of my choice, and I am happy," she said in a stronger voice.

"But not one year ago, this was not so." Her voice broke slightly but she bravely plodded onward, "If things had been different…for a long time, they were!

"I was getting older. Though I have always promised to marry for love, I wonder what I would have done if faced with a situation like Charlotte's. Whom would I have been forced to consider if I had been, 'on the shelf?' Would there have been another Mr. Collins for me?"

Elizabeth reached for her, taking her hands firmly between her own. "Idle musings, Jane. As our mother says, you could not be so beautiful for nothing. You will be so happy, Jane!"

"Yes," Jane's smile widened and her eyes glowed. "I will be. Charles makes me very happy. Every moment I spend with him, every new thing I learn about him, makes me love him all the more."

"Even his rather unfortunate case of clumsiness that led to his being nicknamed Bungles?"

"You must admit it is endearing." Jane's affections for her fiancé shined through her smile.

"Yes. Truly it is!" Elizabeth reassured Jane at the latter's doubtful look. "Long ago I would have laughed at such a folly, eagerly sharing it with Papa and you, perhaps. It would have kept me amused for ages," Elizabeth's eyes were unfocused and far away now, somewhere in her past where Jane could not go.

Jane gently brought her back. "What of you Lizzy? What will make you happy?"

"I have my family, and you are soon to be nearby at Netherfield. I will be content." Elizabeth shrugged rather heavily.

Jane squeezed her sister's han., "Like Charlotte has always avowed-only contentedness? Isn't that how she describes her situation?" _Oh Lizzy!_ "But you admit that you believe her to be miserable," she coaxed.

"Perhaps," Elizabeth said stubbornly, "I will go on as I ever did, teaching your children to knit slippers and embroider cushions!"

"But, Lizzy, I so want you to be happy."

"Perhaps such happiness is not meant for me?" Elizabeth's eyes turned towards the fire.

Jane took a couple of deep breaths. "Charles and I…we have watched you and Mr. Darcy together. You are happy when you are in company with each other."

"You know why it cannot be, Jane," Elizabeth's voice was low but no less adamant.

"I do not, Lizzy."

Elizabeth looked up at her sister sharply. "No one in his family would countenance such a match; he would grow to resent me once he has learned of my infamous actions."

"Infamous? Do you really believe that?" Jane was perplexed.

"How could they be otherwise?" Elizabeth's voice was slightly hysterical now.

Jane's hands moved to her shoulders, forcing her sister to face her, "I have never thought myself smart, Lizzy, not like you and Papa. You almost have your own language of books and philosophy and I don't always understand it. But, Lizzy, even _I_ can see that Lady Catherine's death was not your fault."

Elizabeth shrugged out of her sister's grip, "If I had not told her it was so, Jane… I could have denied that Mr. Darcy offered for me, it was what she wanted. It might have saved her." She drifted away again, her eyes filling with a dark melancholy, her lips turning down in a frown as she faced her nightmares.

Jane looked on sadly. "Lizzy...Did you hear the sermon on Sunday?"

Elizabeth shrugged, "I had things on my mind I suppose." Like Mr. Darcy and his continual perturbing habit of watching her from across the chapel.

"You have always paid attention!" Jane gently scolded.

Elizabeth shrugged again and Jane plowed onward, "The curate spoke of mastering our own tempers. How they are our own to command. We allow others to affect us. _We_ choose to get angry, to be offended, to be saddened when we are confronted with something we do not like." Jane stopped speaking for a moment, allowing what she had said to sink in. She took another breath. "How could you have predicted Lady Catherine's reaction to your words? The blame lies with her for getting angry, not with you. We are individually at fault for how we react. You spoke the truth to Lady Catherine that day. Her reaction was her own decision."

"When did you become so wise, Jane?"

"You _really_ did not listen!"

Lizzy laughed darkly. "I should not have said what I did though." She held up a hand as Jane made to interrupt. "Not that I could have guessed the outcome," she clarified, "but I somehow knew it was wicked to speak so."

Jane did not agree but she doubted she could convince Lizzy. "Charles said something to me, something that made me wonder." She gnawed on her lip, trying to find the right words, "For a time when Darcy returned to town after being with his aunt, he seemed so down. He completely withdrew from society, turned down all invitations, hid himself away. Charles, even in his own melancholy noticed that something was wrong with his friend but he had little experience to know how to help. Only at Pemberley did he begin to understand. It was as if evening shifted suddenly to the brightest of afternoons! His friend's countenance was so different. Charles has never seen him thus, so animated and willing to please, so anxious to be in _your_ company. Mr. Darcy might be quiet, but it is obvious that he feels deeply and completely. He is in love with you. He would not let such a thing as this destroy those feelings."

"By his own admission, his temper is resentful." Elizabeth shook her head. "No, Jane. He could not forgive me."

"Will you not even let him attempt it?" Jane pleaded.

"And destroy everything? Our family's respectability, your own happiness?"

"Lizzy!" _It could not be as bad as that!_

"It is true, Jane."

Jane did not speak, and Lizzy moved from her bed to the window, staring out into the black. Jane rose to leave, then paused, her hand lingering on the door knob. "If none of it had happened, Lizzy, you would have been so happy with him. _He_ makes you happy. I have seen it in your face, in your eyes, when you look at him. For brief moments, you forget all about Lady Catherine, and you are happy. I have not seen you so for a long time. I know Mr. Darcy has seen it, too. You cannot be so cruel as to deny both of you happiness?" When Elizabeth did not answer, Jane tried once more, "Lizzy, I just want you to be happy. That is all. If not for yourself, for me. Please, choose happiness, not contentedness."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

A handful of dinners, several invitations to tea and a few evening parties were all that Darcy had been gifted to spend together with Miss Elizabeth, and though he hoped that she was warming to him after her much colder attitude of the previous fall, he could detect still some hesitancy on her part. It helped that Georgiana was always present as well, as both women seemed to truly enjoy one another's company. In spite of her shy nature, Georgiana was certainly blossoming under Elizabeth's care, even exhibiting an exuberance Darcy had never before seen in her. That he rarely spent time away from his sister and, in consequence, Miss Elizabeth did not bother him or them in the slightest, or so it seemed.

Elizabeth certainly afforded him more attention than she had done during his previous visit, something that was incredibly heartening to his battered ego. She had even smiled at him a few times— a warm, welcoming, upturning of her rosy lips, the very same smile that she seemed to reserve only for those most dear to her.

As such, Darcy had much reason to hope and had become increasingly bold in his attentions. He paid her every compliment and spent the duration of every festivity firmly fixed as a member of her party. Miss Bennet could not doubt what he was about when nearly every word he uttered spoke of his attraction to her.

At least he hoped she could not.

One thing he had not done was attempt to get her alone. It was what he both wanted and feared the most, for perhaps her kindness to himself was only due to Georgiana's presence and not to any softening of her feelings towards him. That she still felt guilty about the demise of his aunt was also apparent, though she was now much better at masking her remorse. Only once recently was her self-reproach evident. Georgiana, on getting a letter from Lady Matlock, had casually mentioned the situation at Rosings, and Elizabeth had become very quiet, hardly saying a word for the rest of the evening. Knowing the great burden she carried, how was Darcy to broach the topic with her?

And now there was Bingley's own party to prepare for, limiting Darcy's time for idle thinking. Bingley was a bucket of nerves, but Georgiana rallied quite well, confident that it would all work out for the best. She had even suggested forgoing the expected evening of cards to serve, instead, a dinner to the guests. Nothing terribly fancy like could be seen in town but something a little less elegant, she supposed, was not beyond her. Unbeknownst to their formidable neighbor, Georgiana had watched Mrs. Bennet carefully, and though the lady was admittedly loud, brash, and almost downright rude, she also knew how to set a table and see to the comforts of all her guests. There was nothing served that did not agree with any person's sense of taste, and the separation of the sexes was always accomplished efficiently and smoothly. Most of all, Georgiana had learned from watching her, to play to her strengths. The meal, once prepared, would go off without a hitch; rather, it was the atmosphere that she was much in charge of. Though quiet, she'd never had a harsh word to say about anyone. Even a quiet hostess was better than an insulting one! And Fitzwilliam had promised to be at her side every moment he was able. She also knew that Elizabeth would not abandon her. Yes, it would all work out nicely.

Elizabeth's feelings for the upcoming party were rather similar to Mr. Bingley's, though for vastly different reasons. Mr. Darcy had been more expressive towards her than ever before; even now that she was away from him, she could not help but blush at the memory of his attentions. She tried to tell herself that she did not enjoy him being so near, that his voice did not cause her stomach to tremble, that his very presence did not nearly muddle her brain. But she was in love.

Every word from him showed his good taste and convinced her of how right they could be together. He was everything she had ever wanted; he had every quality she had dreamed of in a man. For very brief moments, she could convince herself that all was well, that Lady Catherine had never come to Hertfordshire at all. But not for long— always her guilt would intrude, and she would remember the look of alarm on Lady Catherine's face as she fainted away, her still and cold form lying amongst the rhododendrons.

Then it was all pain, for Jane could not be right! Her dear sister had always argued for the good in everyone. Even the despicable Mr. Wickham. She had almost entirely forgiven the man for eloping with Lydia! No, Jane could not be right.

Jane had not heard Mr. Darcy speak that one evening at Netherfield when he asserted that his good opinion once lost was lost forever. And Elizabeth had rejected his so harshly at Huntsford. He should have despised her then. For whatever reason he did not, it had given her hope once.

She could not see how he could continue to remain constant once he found out the truth of how his aunt had really died. Any good will he had for her would disappear. Familial ties were important to him; he had said as much during his proposal. And though she thought better of him now that she had witnessed his attempts to conquer his pride, she knew that something so ingrained as love for one's family could not be dismissed. He would ever be attached to them, no matter their faults.

Wasn't she the same? Though her mother and her Aunt Phillips were silly and ignorant women, she would always guard them from harm. She could not say for sure, was uncertain really, how she would react if the situations were reversed. Had it been her Aunt Phillips that had suffered an apoplexy while confronting Mr. Darcy, _he_ could not have expected her to forgive him. No one would. Would they?

No, Jane could not be right.

But if she was? For just a moment Elizabeth allowed herself to hope as she had never done before. If Jane _was_ right, if Mr. Darcy could forgive her, then every word he had ever spoken was true— he did love her, and everything he was, everything he had, could be hers. She could be happy, oh, so happy with him!

The dinner at Netherfield was set for that very evening, and at that moment, in preparation for the event, Sarah was fusing over Elizabeth's toilette and helping her dress in the white silk gown that Jane had said made her look particularly lovely. So little time seemed to have passed between her conversation with Jane and the dawn of Friday morn! She was still so uncertain as to what she would do. She knew what she _should_ do, but she did not know that she could deny her heart its fondest wish any longer.

"I believe I am finished, miss." Elizabeth looked towards the mirror, turning her head this way and that, noting Sarah's touches— the white ribbon threaded through her hair, the delicate braids at the crown. There were no fresh flowers yet available, but Sarah had done very well in spite of it.

"Thank you." Sarah curtsied and then hurried off to help Kitty with her latest emergency.

Jane knocked softly a moment later and then entered. "You look beautiful, Lizzy."

Requited love had made Jane even more ethereal than before, and the new pale blue dress that their mother had insisted on, brought out the gold strands of her hair and the creaminess of her skin. Elizabeth, linking arms with her sister, felt the need to tease her, "I doubt Bingley will even notice any other woman again after seeing you this evening."

Jane blushed prettily as they descended the stairs. "You do yourself an injustice, Lizzy. Charles always thinks I look lovely, but I can guarantee that _you_ look so lovely this evening, that there will be many who will not even notice me. Particularly Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth could not respond vocally, not with her thoughts still so raw. She smiled thinly at Jane and was grateful when her mother interrupted their _tête-à-tête_.

"Oh Jane, you are so beautiful. I knew Mr. Bingley could not resist you; I knew it all along!"

Her mother had been saying such things ever since Jane and Charles had become engaged. Elizabeth discretely rolled her eyes. Leave it to Mrs. Bennet to take credit for the entirety of Jane and Mr. Bingley's courtship. She opened her mouth to protest just as Mrs. Bennet began fusing over Mary.

Jane touched her arm. "Let Mama have her triumph. I am happy. I cannot deny her the same."

Elizabeth folded her hands together and said nothing.

"Well, well," Mr. Bennet came out of his library. "And so we are for Netherfield this evening."

Mrs. Bennet scowled at him. "Your daughter's fiancé has especially invited the whole family to sup with him. The least you could do is show some enthusiasm. He picked our dearest Jane out of every girl in the world to be his bride, and you…"

Mr. Bennet kissed Jane on the forehead. "I am very happy for you my child." He turned back to his wife, "There, Mrs. Bennet, will that do?"

"Oh, you take delight in vexing me!"

Mr. Bennet consulted his watch, completely ignoring his wife's ire. "Well, my dear, if we don't leave now, I believe we will be late."

"Oh. Oh!" Mrs. Bennet fluttered, "We must call for the carriage immediately!"

* * *

><p>Netherfield was alight with nearly a hundred torches and candles that evening, the light from their flames fighting the gloom of the earlier cloud-covered day. Every window shone brilliantly, every bush had been carefully trimmed back, and even the front steps had been scrubbed until they glowed. Mr. Bingley had truly outdone himself, and it would only do him credit.<p>

"Oh Jane! It is a compliment to you, my dear," Mrs. Bennet crowed.

Mr. Bennet smirked, Kitty coughed, and Mary looked plainly disgusted at such excess. Elizabeth ignored them all to smile at Jane instead. At least there was one member of Jane's family which would not provoke a blush.

Footmen lined the steps and readily assisted the guests down from their carriage the moment it paused.

Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy and Georgiana were all just within, waiting to greet them. "Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet." Bingley was polite as always, but it was quickly apparent who he really was desirous to see. He bent low over Jane's hand and bestowed a fervent kiss to the back of her hand. "I hope your journey was uneventful?"

Kitty giggled, and Elizabeth shushed her.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley. Netherfield looks lovely."

"Thank Miss Darcy; she has worked very hard for this evening," Bingley replied modestly. With Jane on his arm, Bingley approached his hostess.

"Miss Darcy, you are to be commended," Mr. Bennet was currently offering her his own compliments. "I hear that you are responsible for the generous decorations at Netherfield this evening?"

Miss Darcy blushed under such odd praise, "I thank you, sir."

"Mr. Bennet, so good to see you," Mr. Darcy diverted the gentleman's attention away from his embarrassed sister. He looked towards Mr. Bingley meaningfully, who then immediately pulled Mr. Bennet aside with some questions of business.

"Miss Darcy," Kitty curtsied hurriedly and then rushed away immediately into the more populated areas of the house, no doubt in search of Maria Lucas.

"Miss Darcy," Mary curtsied and stayed beside Elizabeth as she made her own curtsy.

"Miss Darcy, everything looks lovely. Now if we can only keep old Grandma Goulding from falling asleep in her soup, I am certain you will be a great success."

Miss Darcy's eyes widened, "Is that likely to happen?"

Elizabeth laughed, "Only once, and I believe that was because the worthy lady had imbibed a bit too much rum punch at the Christmas Celebration."

"It was also long before any of us were born," Mary chided.

"Ah Mary!" Elizabeth sighed dramatically. "You will teach Miss Darcy not to believe a word I say."

Miss Darcy giggled. The Lucases were just arriving, and Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley turned to greet them. Mr. Darcy, as the third though rather unofficial host, was the only one left standing by the side of the two Miss Bennets.

"Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, so good of you to come." His words were banal, but the emotion behind them was not. Elizabeth dared a look into his face. He did not smile, but his cheeks were lightly flushed with pleasure and his eyes were warm with an inner glow. One black errant curl hung precariously close to his forehead, and Elizabeth longed to brush it back to see if it was indeed as soft as it looked.

Mary was perplexed as she looked between the two. A small smile was growing on Mr. Darcy's face, and Elizabeth remained transfixed. "We are grateful for the invitation," Mary finally offered.

"And you, Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy had not yet taken his eyes off Elizabeth. "I have it from my sister that you are particularly fond of Cook's apple tarts. Georgiana was good enough to ensure that they be served this evening."

"I…thank you…yes." She looked away from him but not before he caught the sparkle of pleasure in her eyes at such a rare treat.

"As a fellow enthusiast who am I to deny her the idea?" She heard the roughness in his voice, the heavy emotion that was there, and she could not determine that they were speaking of tarts any longer.

The darkest of blushes stained her cheeks, and she quickly turned, "Ah, the Lucases are here. Come, Mary, we will leave Mr. Darcy to his duties."

She moved quickly, pulling Mary with her, but Darcy was not deterred. As a man of the world and almost thirty, her responses to him were rather enlightening and even encouraging! Truly every one of them showed that Elizabeth had been not adverse to his company. He turned to greet the Lucases, his heart lighter.

The dinner, agreed upon by all participants, was an immediate success. Miss Darcy was praised for her lovely manners and wonderfully set table, and Mr. Bingley was loved by all for his continued goodwill to all sundry. Even Mr. Darcy, to his severest critics, seemed to unbend and engage in conversation with the more gregarious members of Meryton's elite.

The next day dawned beautifully, and while most of the local gentry were still in their beds a slumber and dreaming of Netherfield's apple tarts and soft pheasant, Bingley saw no reason to delay his presenting himself at Longbourn at the earliest possible moment. He and Mr. Darcy arrived promptly at ten o'clock. After the necessary greetings, he turned to his fiancé, "On such a fine day as this, surely Miss Bennet will favor me with her company on a walk?"

Mrs. Bennet could not be happy about the loss of her most important of daughters, and insisted that her presence was still very much required for wedding preparations.

Mr. Bingley remained adamant as she protested, and Mr. Darcy's look turned inscrutable.

Finally in high peak, she appealed to him, guessing at the sway he held over his friend, "Mr. Darcy, so close to the wedding, a mother must have her most worthy of daughters close!"

Mr. Darcy deliberately stayed silent for a full minute, looking in turn at each of the occupants of the room. Mary, studying her sheet music, and Kitty, slouching in the corner seemingly with nothing to keep her occupied, particularly interested him. "I could not agree more, Madam." He bowed low to Mrs. Bennet. "I think however that Miss Catherine might relish a task this morning, and as Bingley and I planned on walking into the village, perhaps you have a list of errands we can accomplish while there? Four willing hands are better than one."

After much pursing of her lips, Mrs. Bennet rather grudgingly admitted that this was true, and as her tasks for the day did indeed involve a few errands in Meryton as well as the picking out of a suitable piece of lace for Jane's dress of which her youngest proved wildly enthusiastic, she could not in all good conscience oppose the scheme any longer.

So the foursome set out together, Elizabeth walking slightly ahead of Mr. Darcy and attempting to keep Jane close to limit her contact with the vastly dangerous Mr. Darcy. Jane did not seem to mind her presence, and Darcy was alternately bemused and amused. Only Mr. Bingley was slightly perturbed, but his good nature did not allow him to complain, especially as Elizabeth remained mostly mute during their walk after the merest of civilities had been exchanged and seemed content to admire the foliage, most willingly looking away when Mr. Bingley cradled Jane's hand in his own. Nor did she seem to notice when Mr. Bingley refused to relinquish it.

Meryton came rather too quickly for Bingley and not soon enough for Elizabeth. Jane paired herself off immediately with Mr. Bingley to complete a portion of her mother's errands, and they moved hurriedly away, leaving Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth alone in the middle of the bustling street. Annoyed, Elizabeth turned quickly to enter the butcher's, with Mr. Darcy following closely behind. She attempted to separate herself from him by immediately trying to approach the counter, but the gentleman proved tenacious, matching her every step and even offering rather gallantly to carry any of her packages back to Longbourn for her.

"I fear the order is rather too great for that!" she blurted out rather unfeelingly before remembering herself. "Oh!" Her hands flew to her face, and she whirled away but not before he caught her blush.

Mr. Darcy found that he rather enjoyed her blushes. Gently he took her by the elbow, smiled at her alarm, and helped guide her to the counter.

He introduced himself to the butcher, consulted Mrs. Bennet's list and asked for a salt-cured ham and a leg of lamb to be delivered to Longbourn. When he asked if Mr. Arnold would be so kind as to charge it to his account Elizabeth puffed up with indignation.

"Sir, I'll have you know that my father can well afford to pay for the food on our table!" she protested.

Mr. Darcy, instantly chagrined, haltingly explained that he wished for Mr. Arnold to charge the delivery charges to his accounts. "It is my fault that I am not such a burly fellow as to be able to carry a salt-cured ham and a leg of lamb all the way to Longbourn."

Elizabeth would have retorted, if she could have but remembered how it was done! Instead, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the largeness of his shoulders so finely encased in his elegant coat, and that led to her remembering the firmness of his arm as he had led her into dinner just the previous evening. He might not be a "burly fellow" by his own standards, but to her, he was magnificent!

"I believe that will be acceptable, Mr. Arnold?" Mr. Darcy nodded to the butcher, and then led the still quiet Elizabeth out of the shop.

Back on the street, he gently removed the note from Elizabeth's grasp to read it once more. "I believe that Miss Bennet and Bingley had decided to visit the milliners and your Aunt Phillips, so that leaves us to find a few bottles of ratafia?" He looked at her enquiringly, one eyebrow raised above his smiling eyes.

"Mr. Porter, owner of the inn, has the best selection of wines in town." He nodded and offered her his arm, which she, in all good conscience, could not refuse to take.

She prayed for the inn to be crowded to save her from having to endure any more awkwardness with Mr. Darcy. Unfortunately on entering the ancient timbered building, she found the public room disturbingly empty, Mr. Porter busily wiping down the bar, and the rest of the staff absent. Elizabeth felt something akin to dread settle over her. If Mr. Porter should have to leave for any reason, she would be left all alone with Mr. Darcy!

Her mind was still undecided, trying to determine what it ought to do. Could she love him and allow him to love her in return? How fleeting would be the feeling, though, of being thus cherished? When he learned of her perfidy, how much worse would the pain be to lose him then? Should she spare him and herself the pain by remaining aloof, discouraging him? Surely allowing his attentions and then ruining it all with her confession would be worse. She really only needed a few more days! If she could discourage him for that length of time, the wedding would be over, and he would leave, and she would never see him again! If she listened to her heart, he might remain, making it all the more painful, for in that case, a confession must eventually be made.

While she argued with herself, Mr. Darcy completed the business with Mr. Porter. Elizabeth heard them speaking together at last, just in time to feel true alarm as Mr. Porter asked them to wait while he fetched a stable boy to confirm a delivery Longbourn.

It was a long dreadful silence that settled over the inn. Elizabeth moved closer to where the fire crackled, determined to distance herself as far as possible from Mr. Darcy and his disturbing habit of unnerving her. On the wall was an ancient coat of arms, and she hoped her intent studying of it would appear off-putting.

It did not work, for Mr. Darcy followed her, stepping closer than propriety allowed. "Miss Elizabeth, you have been avoiding me." It was not a question, thankfully, for she found her tongue tied up in knots and could not even offer a sound in response. She could feel his eyes roving over her face. "My sister was grateful for your attentions this winter," he finally spoke again and rather offhandedly.

Elizabeth was instantly relieved; if all he wanted was to offer his thanks for her friendship with his sister, they could muddle through this conversation tolerably well! "Miss Darcy is a wonderful girl. Anyone would be lucky to call her friend."

He did not answer, and there was a brief tense moment when she worried that somehow she had offended him. She braved a peek, only to see his eyes intent on her, their richness so very captivating. "And what of her brother?" he demanded gently. "Is he not equally as worthy of your friendship?"

Elizabeth's heart began pounding swiftly in her breast. "I don't know what you mean, sir," she managed breathlessly.

"I think perhaps you do, Miss Elizabeth."

At that moment Mr. Porter returned, and Elizabeth was left with the rather perturbing task of trying to forget the way Mr. Darcy had so upended her peace. How was she to endure it?

* * *

><p>The next morning, like its predecessor, dawned so fine and the plans for the wedding had progressed so readily, that Elizabeth could not help but tie on her bonnet and button up her pelisse for a walk without so much as being aware of her actions.<p>

It was such a morning as made anything seem possible, and she breathed in the air deeply on exiting Longbourn's park. The trees, long dormant, were now bursting with blooms and early leaves; the grass under her feet was greening, and there was a smell in the air of freshness and newness from the early blooming forsythias. Her steps took her far away from her home towards the brook at the edge of the fence line between Longbourn and Netherfield.

"Miss Bennet?" Elizabeth paused, one foot mid-step, there was no mistaking that voice, so soft and kind. It was especially boyish this morning as if he expected her rejection of his presence. Her heart protested, and she found she could not.

She turned towards him where he stood under a large elm tree. "Mr. Darcy," she curtsied.

He snatched the hat off his head with one hand and bowed deeply. "I had hoped to see you this morning, Miss Elizabeth."

By now she could hear her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She was certain that he could hear it as well. "I…that is…" she floundered.

"Miss Elizabeth," he smiled at her gently as he asked, "may I walk with you? I have been enjoying this fine spring morning. I would be most gratified to share it with a companion." The hand that had remained behind his back, he now revealed, and in it he held a small posy composed entirely of creeping pink primroses, the very same primroses that Elizabeth had been searching for the previous autumn.

"Oh!" She accepted them gratefully, bringing them close to her nose inhaling their sweet fragrance. "But where did you find these? I did not expect them to be in bloom yet."

"There is a particular hedge, on the edge of Netherfield farms, near the rather water-logged area of ground where they can be found," he admitted the tips of his ears reddening as he remembered his recent embarrassment.

Elizabeth let out a low chuckle. "I would not have thought you to be willing to brave such an area after the last encounter." Her voice sounded coy and very encouraging to the suddenly nervous Mr. Darcy.

"If one is careful, I believe it is possible to achieve all that the heart desires." He looked at her, his gaze captivating her, the fire within it burning her to her very soul. This was the moment, she was sure of it, the moment he would speak. She did not know, even now that she was on the cusp of it, how she would answer him, only that she was no longer sure if she was strong enough to say no. Instead she sniffed again at her flowers, trying to ignore the very handsome man at her side.

"Do you know, Miss Bennet, that the grounds at Pemberley are still too frozen to begin preparing them for the planting season?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"There was still much snow on the ground when Georgiana and I traveled to Hertfordshire. By now I am sure it is all melted, of course. My coachman would have preferred that I put off our trip until now, I expect. But I could not." He stopped walking and turned towards her, his own hands held behind his back where she could not see them shaking. "As the winter fled, I found that I could not be away from this particular county any longer."

Elizabeth was by this point looking anywhere but at him. His boots were particularly fascinating and very shiny that morning; perhaps she could see her own reflection if she leaned a little closer?

"You will not ask what so fascinates me about it?" His voice was very calm and very intent.

Her chin dropped further into her chest, well hidden now by her bonnet, but not before he saw her cheeks deeply flush. It bolstered his courage, "There is a particular beauty here. One I have never seen before, definitely not at Pemberley and never in London. Miss Elizabeth… Elizabeth, you must know…" he abruptly stopped speaking, and she dared a look, her eyes shining with emotion.

He was now fiddling with his hat, ruining the brim with his strong fingers. "No, I have been wrong before. I will not make the same mistake." One shaking hand came from behind his back, reaching for her own, taking it so delicately between his much broader palms. "I love you, Elizabeth." He smiled sheepishly. "I cannot help but love you, it seems. It is for you I have returned; _you_ are the most beautiful thing I have ever encountered. The most beautiful thing in this world." He jammed his hat back onto his head. "I am aware it might make me ridiculous, a subject of folly to you, but I cannot help but admit to it."

"Mr. Darcy," she attempted to speak.

He heard her not. "I came here today, unsure of my reception, but knowing I could not remain silent any longer. Would you do me the honor, is it too much to ask for you to allow me to court you?" He raised her hand to his lips, softly kissing her knuckles. "I am a man of many faults, I hope vanity is no longer among them, but I cannot go on, not knowing if I have a chance of winning you. You are worthy of so much more than me. Please allow me… give me the time to win you as you deserve to be won? I must try; my heart demands it." She could feel his hand shaking in hers. "I will accept whatever you wish, however." She looked up at him; she could not deny herself.

He saw her indecision, understood a fraction of the pain and wished he could remove it fully, but knew he could not. His thumb was absently caressing her knuckles, relishing the softness of her skin, hoping that this wasn't the only time he would be able to touch her thusly.

The feeling of his hand on hers was so deliciously painful for Elizabeth that she could not think, could not convince herself that this was all wrong. Every inch of Mr. Darcy seemed to call for her, begging her, pleading with her, to end his torment. She could not deny him, not now. The mind was no longer strong; the body was weak. In a voice so quiet that he was forced to move even closer she answered, "Yes." She smelled the lightness of his soap, could feel the heat emanating off of him and nearly swooned. Never had she been so close to a man before!

He moved his head closer to her own. "Yes, I may court you?" His question was so hopeful, and his voice tickled her cheek as he spoke.

And no matter the consequences, for at this very moment there never had been a Lady Catherine; there was nothing but happiness, wonderful, beautiful happiness! "Yes, Mr. Darcy. I would be honored."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Mr. Darcy had offered her his arm for their return to Longbourn, and there he had met with Mr. Bennet to secure that man's permission. Mr. Bennet was puzzled, not a frequent state for him, and aside from demanding to know if Elizabeth's affections were engaged by such a man, could do little else but shake his head, kiss her on the forehead, and retreat to his library once more.

She had not known exactly what to expect, but it had not been this. Surely her own father had been able to piece together what exactly had occurred to Lady Catherine and would have been terribly surprised to receive such a request from the Lady's own family. If he did know, however, he was apparently playing things rather close to his chest. It almost relieved her— perhaps her father was not as indolent as she had imagined? Or was he more so, for not wishing to concern himself further in the matter?

Mr. Darcy had hardly given her anytime during the morning to think, to spend some time in the quiet reflection which she urgently needed. He remained at her side, dutifully indulging Mrs. Bennet as he listened to all her vulgarities, and even smiled and thanked her for her obsequiousness as she offered him her congratulations. Her fawning all over him was quite different from her usual coldness towards him, and Elizabeth perhaps would have been diverted, had her mind and heart not still been at odds with each other.

She took a seat on a distant sofa and tried not to blush at every word coming from her parent's mouth. Mr. Darcy soon enough took a seat close to her but continued to listen to Mrs. Bennet's raptures about the pin money, jewels, and fine carriages which were soon to be her dear Lizzy's! He was all things polite, not even reminding Mrs. Bennet that only a courtship had been entered into. That was left to Elizabeth who jerked with surprise at her mother's insulting manner of assuming all was completed, "Mama, Mr. Darcy has been kind enough to ask to court me."

"Oh, well!" Mrs. Bennet hardly looked cowed. "Mr. Darcy you must tell me your favorite dishes so that cook might prepare them."

He merely blinked at her and was fortuitously saved from having to make any kind of reply by Bingley's arriving for his usual morning visit.

"Mr. Bingley, you must congratulate us; your own friend, Mr. Darcy, has asked to court our Lizzy."

Mr. Bingley did not look surprised, but rather embarrassed, at such effusiveness; obviously he knew how it would be, being a particular friend of the gentleman. But always polite, he offered his congratulations to Miss Elizabeth and to Darcy before quickly turning to Mrs. Bennet, "And how are the wedding preparations coming?"

That was surely the right question, for Mrs. Bennet, reminded of her other favorite daughter, spent some several minutes expounding on her latest wedding woes. That anything would go wrong this near to the celebrations, she was certain, and had already spent most of her morning with cook looking over that worthy's shoulder trying to determine that everything was being done correctly. Cook, armed with her talisman, her best wooden spoon, did her best to accommodate her mistress's wishes, but as Mrs. Bennet when stressed was often as unrestrained as she was confusing, eventually that lady had requested the help of Hill to achieve regular order in her kitchen once more. Thankfully, only a tureen of vegetable soup and a meat pie had suffered that lady's mortification at being questioned about her profession.

Mrs. Bennet, though gone from the kitchen, was still certain that the cheese would spoil, the ham would go bad, and any other number of difficulties to ruin the wedding day of her most beloved daughter, would, of course, occur. All of this she offered to Mr. Bingley who looked both properly polite and horrified that such calamities could possibly occur, but it was only the soothing voice of Jane which eventually silenced Mrs. Bennet on that score.

That she should then take up her complaints about only having been able to travel to London once for Jane's trousseau, was to be expected, and though she accepted rather grudgingly that Mrs. Gardiner knew of all the best warehouses, she was convinced that they had missed something, or been charged altogether too much for the French lace she had insisted upon.

Elizabeth handled all of this in chagrined silence, knowing that any attention she gave to her mother now would only turn that lady's eye towards herself, enabling her to espouse even more improprieties about her daughter's having "caught" Mr. Darcy. The last thing she needed at this moment was another reason for Mr. Darcy to despise her.

When Mrs. Bennet, after a half hour, showed no signs of ceasing her complaints, Elizabeth, quite overcome, finally turned to her companion and in a pseudo voice begged him to offer her news of his sister. "Will we be seeing her in the next few days?"

Darcy smiled. "I believe that Georgiana would be delighted to share the carriage with Bingley and me Friday evening when we come for supper."

"Oh, had you plans on joining us?"

"With your mother offering to make all my favorite dishes, I think it best that I attend and partake. Mutton in a plain sauce always tempts my palate."

"You cannot be serious, sir, to have such simple tastes! Why I have heard that you employ at least a dozen French chefs!" Elizabeth was reveling in her success of diverting Mr. Darcy's attentions from her mother, so much so that she hardly noticed the coyness of her attitude.

"Not a dozen, merely Chef Andre at Pemberley. I don't expect that he would allow a second French chef onto the premises," he responded with a well-placed sally.

Elizabeth smiled, "Well done, sir, you have disarmed me."

He bowed his head, "I would not have it so."

This was not something she had expected. "Are you saying you like my being impertinent?" she asked him incredulously. Her mother had always informed her daughters that men preferred quiet, subservient wives. That she did not follow her own advice did not over-worry her at all.

He grinned at her. "I do indeed. Do you never wonder why I offered for you at Rosings?" Now that she appeared willing to accept his attentions, he was obviously able to reminisce about their painful past without much unpleasantness.

Elizabeth could not remember that evening without severe misgivings. "But I was so rude, so unfeeling!" Her chagrin was present on her face.

He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently before raising it to his lips. "It is only what I deserved."

"You must have despised me."

"No, never!" he claimed gallantly. "I admit I was angry, but I could never hate you."

She dared a peek at him— his eyes were serious, his mouth set firm, determined that she believe him. "And what have I possibly done to deserve such a champion?" she bravely whispered.

He leaned closer. "You withheld your favor."

She demurely dropped her eyes. "No, I will not allow that."

"It is true." He had yet to let go of her hand. "I have been a selfish being all my life, left to my own caprices by my indulging parents. You properly humbled me when I was in the greatest need of it. I would have continued onward, answering to no one for my impulses or ill-begotten pride, if not for you."

"You would have me be some sort of deity!" She shook her head. "It is not sound, sir."

"Fitzwilliam," he reminded her impishly.

"Sir, we are in company," she reminded him softly. "It is hardly proper."

He leaned closer still, his curls tickling her cheek and whispered, "I hardly noticed."

She stammered, colored, and was silent for a time. Of a certainty, during the quiet it finally occurred to her to think on their latest conversation and realize that she had acted a shocking flirt! What he must think of her?

Propriety dictated that as the hour neared the afternoon meal, Mrs. Bennet formally invite her guests to partake with the family; this she did rather graciously, for her at least, and both men accepted readily.

It was to be a particularly painful meal. Mr. Bennet remained almost entirely silent, not speaking to anyone beyond a few of the social niceties, and allowed his wife to rule the table. Unfortunately that lady had forgotten again that a courtship did not equal a betrothal, and was reiterating all of the things she would be compelled to do again once Elizabeth and Darcy met at the altar. Mr. Darcy bore it well, but Elizabeth was humiliated. She tried to compel her father to intervene, perhaps to change the topic to something else, but he refused to meet her gaze, his eyes focused on his plate or his newspaper and so did not see her pleading eyes often raised towards his place at the head of the table.

Finally Jane was able to distract the pontificating Mrs. Bennet by asking her if the flowers had been set up in the church.

"Not as of yet, I had hoped to have it done yesterday." She scowled at the entire table in general for a moment. Apparently she had not got done all that she wished the previous day and blamed the gentleman and her two eldest for abandoning her and her plans.

"Well, mama, you always have had such a way with flowers that the rest of us lack, I am certain that you did not truly need our help; it will be beautiful." Elizabeth, quite talented in the art of floral design had offered to aid her mother in decorating the church, but Mrs. Bennet had insisted that the flowers required a more delicate touch than Elizabeth, with her wild ways, could offer. Elizabeth only hoped that she hadn't chosen to make the arrangements too showy, thus upstaging the bride!

Mrs. Bennet scowled, but otherwise could offer no retort, and wisely turned back to her plate.

Mary took this moment to share a moral platitude with her fellow diners about the evils of overindulgence. Lizzy heaved a tiny sigh and determined to ignore her family for the rest of the afternoon.

Through the maneuverings of Jane Bennet, the two gentlemen had taken their leave of the ladies soon after the repast and returned to Netherfield, disheartened— Mr. Bingley, simply because he was out of Miss Bennet's company, and Mr. Darcy, because he was certain that there was some type of conspiracy between the sisters to keep him away from Elizabeth.

His logic suggested otherwise. The ladies of the house were busy enough— Elizabeth and Jane had offered to help their mother decorate the church, and surely the gentleman would be in the way— but his heart did not want to acknowledge anything beyond her wanting to be free of his company.

Bingley and Jane's parting was brief, but Darcy was loath to leave Elizabeth—though he was certain that she wished him gone, he had foolishly looked for any sign that she had enjoyed his attentions as much as he had enjoyed hers—and so kept Bingley waiting in the carriage upwards of ten minutes while he tendered his goodbyes.

Taking a deep breath he said, "Miss Elizabeth, I would like to call tomorrow to see you. With all of the wedding preparations, do you think you will be available?"

"I imagine so, and Mr. Bingley will be certain to call."

Her answer was not exactly what he wanted to hear. He wished that she would have gladly welcomed his company instead of that of his friend. Courage deserted him, and he found he could not ask if she was looking forward to seeing him as well. "And will you be pleased if I bring my sister along?" he asked instead.

"Of course," she beamed at him now, and he tried to keep from frowning. Earlier in the Bennets' sitting room he was certain that he was making progress, that she was responsive to his overtures of affection. Now she was once more the confusing creature of last fall, one he had hoped never to meet again.

"I have enjoyed our time together today, Miss Elizabeth." He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

She colored and dropped her eyes, "I…thank you for visiting us."

Better, but still not what he would have liked. "Perhaps I could bring with me tomorrow the book of which we spoke earlier?" All he wanted was a smile, a single smile that he knew was for him alone. He was to be disappointed.

"Thank you, I will look forward to it." She offered him only the smallest upturn of her lips.

He pressed her hand before letting it go. "Until tomorrow then, Miss Elizabeth."

She curtsied. "Until tomorrow." She turned away from him to watch Mrs. Bennet bustling out of the house, while trying to secure her bonnet and simultaneously button up her pelisse.

Now later and alone, in the darkness of her room, unable to sleep, Elizabeth chided herself, blamed her heart, damned her weakness. Her heart had made the choice for her, and now she must endure the agony of his closeness knowing it was all so temporary! Two days was all she would have until the wedding was finalized, and Jane was safe from the world's scrutiny, and then she would be forced to confess for it could not be otherwise. He must know. Her confession would be forced out of her, and soon.

She had been weak, she decided. Overcome with the feel of his lips on her hand and the raw masculinity of his presence. The spiciness of the sandalwood which he wore acted as a drug, invaded her olfactory senses and clouded her brain. It was the only thing that could account for it.

She knew not what she would do once the world knew. Her parents would probably disown her. At least her mother would— with two other daughters still unmarried, it would be wisest to turn her hoydenish daughter out of the family. And her father, often indolent, would probably claim it all an unfortunate business and return to his library without offering a word of complaint against her mother's highhandedness.

She realized with a jolt that she was being unfair to them and repented, for they were still her parents; they had fed her and clothed her for more than twenty years. But they had also clothed and fed all her other sisters. Their loyalty would be to the family as a whole and not to one single flawed individual member.

Her only chance would be if Mr. Darcy chose not to illuminate her guilt to the world. He would desert her, but perhaps he would keep things quiet? He had protected his own sister, would he also protect a woman for whom he had once felt affection?

Today he had been so attentive, but she could easily see his fond smile changing to a sneer, his considerations changing to harsh words and reproaches once she confessed.

She turned into her pillow. And now she would have to see Mr. Darcy tomorrow as well, to once again face the internal war within! She would need to look for ways to remain aloof from him. He was a most determined suitor, much smarter and tenacious than Mr. Collins had been. And, of course, as a tiny voice inside reminded her, it was easy to be caught in close conversation with him when she actually enjoyed his attentions. She finally found rest just before the sky grayed with the dawn.

Jane also had trouble sleeping that evening. The last few days she had experienced an absurd amount of giddiness, imagining her very soon-to-be new life with Charles. Mrs. Bingley! It had been so long in coming! She did not regret anything she would leave behind, except Lizzy, of course. She already had plans to invite Lizzy to stay with her as often as possible after the honeymoon.

In a few short days she would leave Jane Bennet behind forever and be with the man she loved most. With such considerations in mind, Jane's outlook of the afternoon was rather different than Lizzy's. The day had been rather carefree, one of the first in a long time where there was little to accomplish for the approaching wedding. While Mrs. Bennet was certainly more stressed than usual, worried that all of her hard work would tumble around her ears, Jane in all of her serenity had no such compunctions. Nothing would go wrong when there had been such careful planning. She valued her mother's work, knew it would all be well, as she had helped accomplish much of it. She was wearing the wedding dress she had picked and marrying the man of her choice. She was certain it would all be beautiful, whether or not the flowers wilted at the church, or the custard fell sadly flat. And as to the cheese, she was positive it could not sour in so short a time!

Jane had seen the look of panic in her sister's eyes on being effectively secluded from the rest of the party by her suitor, and was anxious to speak to her of it. She had arranged it so that the early evening was to be spent with Mrs. Bennet at the church arranging the flowers and away from Charles and Mr. Darcy. She had not wanted to be parted from her fiancé, but talking to Lizzy, getting her to open up about her troubles, seemed of greater importance.

Once they arrived at the church, Mrs. Bennet dutifully talked her daughters out of every one of their suggestions, leaving them standing idly by, with nothing to do but watch her arrange things to her satisfaction.

Jane had wisely anticipated this outcome and wished to use it to her advantage to draw Lizzy out of her internal musings, but all of her gentle hints did nothing to convince Lizzy to leave the sanctity of the church and the nearness of her mother's ear to discuss things with her. Jane had always been Lizzy's confidante, and she wondered if it had been wise to push her towards Mr. Darcy; so, for now Lizzy was nearly completely mum when Jane tried to coax anything from her. It had been, she believed, at her own instigation that Lizzy had accepted Mr. Darcy, and she was feeling rather guilty about that. It was not in her nature to be so forward in her opinions, and it was disconcerting to have to make an effort to be so, but she could not watch her sister go on in such unhappiness. Should she not have said anything?

But there had seemed to be enough between the two to prompt her to act. She had correctly interpreted the feelings of both and was certain that there only needed to be a slight prompting from her to get Lizzy to act as she ought. She knew now how much life could afford in the way of happiness—with Charles now hers—and could not imagine anyone being unhappy when such sources of delight were available. And Lizzy, her most beloved of sisters deserved happiness. If it was within Jane's power to aid her, she could not in all good conscience turn away, no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel.

But it had been a severe blow that Lizzy was no longer willing to confide in her. She tried to remain confident, to remind herself that she and Charles had agreed that Mr. Darcy was just the man to suit Lizzy.

Not that she had always thought so, though she had never loathed him the same way that Lizzy had. She had experienced a certain filial loyalty when she had heard Lizzy's account of the Meryton assembly where he had called her "tolerable." Her good nature had always assumed that there had been some sort of mistake though, for how could a man not admire Lizzy?

After a time her opinion had altered slightly, she had seen his aloofness—what Lizzy called pride—towards the citizens of Meryton. Still though, if he was Mr. Bingley particular friend he must be a respectable sort of man, only far above the touch of the commonness of the Bennets. He probably knew this and did not want to inspire any hope in the breast of Meryton's most distinguished family, namely her own. Jane Bennet had never lacked for sense, and she supposed this was a wise course for him and did not bother to merit him much of a second thought.

Nor had she ever considered Mr. Darcy to favor her sister. Thus, Jane had been surprised by Mr. Darcy's singular attentions, but she had never doubted that it was what Lizzy deserved. Neither sister had ever planned to marry for more material gains, but Lizzy, with her ready wit had always seemed to be above the touch of their neighbors. She deserved something better, something more, than the residents of Meryton could ever offer her. Mr. Darcy was in every way the perfect foil to Lizzy's own intellect. Yes, they would suit very well. Elizabeth would be very happy.

Perhaps their relationship was not destined to be as tranquil as that of her and Charles, but tranquility was never something that Lizzy seemed to esteem. From an early age she had liked to be challenged, and Darcy was just the man for the job. Jane especially did not doubt _that_.

She did not doubt that he would forgive Elizabeth the part she had played in Lady Catherine's demise. Jane was of such a forgiving nature herself she had trouble seeing the rest of the world capable of holding grudges. She had forgiven Charles for abandoning her. She loved him, so she forgave him.

And she could easily see how Mr. Darcy felt about her sister. If all Lizzy had said about Mr. Darcy was true, and Jane had no reason to doubt her, Jane was certain that Mr. Darcy would forgive her. Really, Lizzy was exaggerating things, letting her guilt convince her of things her astute mind would usually ignore.

Another party, this one at nearby Netherfield, also experienced a rather sleepless night. Mr. Darcy could not look back on the day with satisfaction. He had heard Elizabeth's tiny sigh at lunch and had misinterpreted it as a wish to be out of his company.

Her behavior in front of Longbourn's portico had been anything but encouraging, and all of her earlier actions in the Bennets' sitting room had been negated by her last few words to him. If he was a lesser man perhaps he would have resigned from the field and tried his best to forget the lady. But he could not. Determined, he would remain steadfast to his purpose unless she said the actual words to turn him away. But it appeared that it would take him steeling his emotions to be strong against her apparent indifference.

Darcy pounded a fist into the mattress. Just one word of encouragement; didn't he deserve that? Did she really detest his company as he had previously feared? Why then did she agree to a courtship? Nothing made any sense! He felt he was in some kind of farce, a puppet being controlled by an ignorant puppeteer, pulling at him from all directions for his own selfish amusement.

He could at least be thankful that he had met her before she made her debut in London as the very tempting sister of Mrs. Bingley. She would not have had to settle then for a mere Mister such as himself! He could count any number of his acquaintances who would have given him ample competition for her favors. Any advantage, well, he would use it shamelessly because he had to.

It should perhaps be mentioned that there was one other person in Meryton that was having trouble sleeping. In the corner bedroom at Longbourn Mrs. Bennet lay slumbering, a handkerchief fluttering on her nose as her breaths blew rhythmically against it. And Mr. Bennet, though tossing slightly, was deep in dream land.

One other daughter, down the hall and slightly apart from the rest of the family, remained awake, hoping her mother would never learn what she had done. It had been an ideal situation, one that she had partially maneuvered to be so, but when the moment came she found she could not do it. She could not say yes! And she would never hear the end of it if her mother found out that she had refused the very eligible Mr. John Lucas.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I have some exciting news. A separate project of mine has been published! It is currently available on Kindle (which can be read on anything that can download the Kindle reader, cellphones, iPads, laptops, PC's, etc.) at Amazon and will be in paperback form as well in the next couple of weeks. **

**The novel is called **_**Allyson Rowe**_**, and it is a spy story with a heart, about a girl who discovers what's really important in life, beyond her job of saving the world. Lots of romance and suspense too! **

**If you have the time check it out, you can read the first couple of chapters for free. And if you decide you'd like to read more, it's only $.99! Not too expensive, right? :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

It happened like this.

Miss Catherine Bennet, known for little more than being the bosom friend of her amoral younger sister Lydia, had taken to visiting Lucas lodge—after the abdication of that unworthy sibling—almost daily to escape the strictures of her father and the effusions of her mother. Planning weddings should have been exciting, but seeing how her mother carried on, there was little that it excited in Kitty's breast beyond the desire to _not_ tie the proverbial knot at _any_ future moment!

That was, of course, before she had caught her latest glimpse of Mr. John Lucas. It was not love at first sight; nay, nothing so stereotypical. In fact, she hardly remembered him at all until he spoke to her. He was, after all, nearly a decade older than herself. Her only prior glimpses of him were from when she had been a grubby girl who still considered herself to be beyond the touch of boys. Then, Mr. John Lucas, already a young man, was _too old_ to even be thought of.

But the John Lucas of today, recently returned from town where he had been fortunate to spend some time acquiring what his father referred to as "town bronze," was very much a different creature—especially to a girl who was beginning to chomp against the bit of loneliness and boredom at home.

The day Kitty had first seen _him,_ she had been walking towards Lucas Lodge when through the trees he came, riding on his horse like a mythical knight, though his clothes were much more attractive than armor would have been! His riding costume suited his frame to perfection, his breeches highlighted his muscular legs, his coat was tight across his broad shoulders, and his cravat was tied in the popular mathematical style. His hair under his beaver hat was carefully combed into a brutus, and Kitty had never seen anyone so _a la mode_ before. She had such little experience in the metropolis—in point of fact, none at all.

Everywhere she went though, Meryton and the like, it seemed that London was spoken of with such awe and wonder that it was felt by her to be grossly unfair that she had not been allowed to spend any time there too, going to balls and parties and the theatre. Well, perhaps not to the theatre for she had just finished the detestable King Lear by that Shakers person, without understanding a word of it. What had her father been thinking when he had commanded her to read such drivel when there were more exciting novels to be had in the most modern of styles?

It was also a point of frustration to Kitty that Lydia, her _younger sister,_ had recently had her own adventure in the capital and now she was in Newcastle surrounded by delectable red coats while Kitty had only the youngest Mr. Goulding and the gouty Mr. Timbers for company and no hope for escape.

But now that Mr. Lucas had returned, all seemed to be well. Though he was not as handsome as Mr. Wickham or Mr. Bingley, he wasn't so very plain! And it was much easier to converse with him—for there were no sisters around to draw the attention away from her, and because she had known him for all of her life, there was no need to stand on ceremony.

At first they talked of commonplace things, what he had seen in London and her impressions of the latest assembly, but gradually it became obvious to her that his frequent distractions in her company meant that he was interested in deeper conversations than she felt she could offer. Kitty had wracked her brain, trying to come up with something more suitable to speak of, something that such a "man of the world" would enjoy. She had even stolen an old paper from her father's bookroom to read of the latest _on dits_ about town. Perhaps something new and revolutionary had occurred and she could stun Mr. Lucas with her witty recital of the particulars!

Unfortunately, news for the 27th of February had been slow. The paper only spoke of the price yields for wool and the gossip about a Miss Lowe from nowhere to speak of, all set to marry some Viscount or something; but, though Kitty was interested in such things, she could not reasonably discuss those persons so wholly unconnected with her without appearing vulgar.

On next seeing Mr. Lucas, that very morning, Kitty was so very perturbed that their conversation would not have all of its similar undertones, that she blurted out the very first thing that came to mind, upon his dismounting from his horse to offer her his escort. "You know, Mr. Lucas, I was just reading that there is a new type of sheep wool just come on the market."

Unfortunately for Kitty, sheep wool greatly interested Mr. Lucas. So much so that Kitty, after a quarter of an hour listening to him debate the merits of one type over another, was heartily bored and never wished to hear or speak of the four-legged mammal again.

Also unfortunate, was that no matter how false his belief, Mr. Lucas now suspected her of a partiality for such conversation, and thus he began, during all of their subsequent meetings, to enthusiastically share with her all of his plans for future development of a revolutionary new sheering method at Lucas Lodge farms. His great excitement for it caused his eyes to flash with boyish wonder, making him uncommonly attractive, so much so that Kitty did not have the heart to deny him her ear.

She was desperate to talk of something else though. But John Lucas remained determined to continue their discussions. Not only did he continue to seek her out on her morning walks—she would have to change the timing of those walks to noonday—but he also began looking for her at church.

And that was when it first occurred to her that there was something about him, symptoms of something that she had never seen directed at herself. Was it possible that Mr. Lucas admired her? She had seen it in Mr. Bingley, the role of the mooncalf he acted when he was around Jane. Also, between Lydia and Wickham there had seemed to be some sort of connected affection. But always the men around Kitty had gravitated towards her other sisters, never remaining at her side once it was seen that there were far greater prizes in the Bennet family to be won.

It was flattering at first; any girl would be gratified to be admired by a relatively handsome, gentlemanlike kind of a man, one who was set to inherit a modest independence. Her mother would have certainly told her that _she_ could not do better.

And for a week or so, Kitty believed that indeed she could not. Mr. Lucas wasn't very handsome, but he had some attractions— his riding costume, in particular— and though his Sunday best didn't exactly show off his legs as well as they had appeared in his riding breeches, he still carried them off tolerably well. She didn't particularly enjoy speaking with him, not all the time anyway, for he was a little too solemn, and disinterested in all those things she held most dear, namely, lace, ribbons and fashion. But to be admired! It made even the black cloud of talking for the rest of her life of wool and sheep grooming almost palatable.

And surely it would not be so bad if Maria Lucas was still at Lucas Lodge to keep her company after she married John. Maria was a girl much after Kitty's own heart and loved speaking of the newest fashions from London just as much as she did. John, being a dutiful brother, had acquired a couple of the latest fashion plates for his sister as a special treat while in London, and every visit to Maria meant the opportunity to pour over the fashion plates and dream of wearing such splendid raiment. Often, perhaps, their conversations seemed repetitive to an outsider's point of view, but neither lady would credit such nonsense!

Of course, their chatter also meant that John did not remain in the sitting room above half an hour, for no man would be able to listen to such inanity for long without wishing to be about his business elsewhere. Kitty had thought she should be sorry to see him go, for didn't every woman want her swain to continue in her presence, sighing and appreciating the fine figure she made sitting upright on the morning chaise!

She was not sorry though. _Just_ with Maria could she be fully herself, and Maria entered as enthusiastically into her fashionable suggestions as did she.

So at first there had been no question of not marrying John Lucas. Especially after Maria had dropped several hints of her brother's being "violently in love with her friend." Knowing that such a man was fascinated with her had made her feel very powerful indeed!

And Mr. Lucas was eligible. She even liked his family; it would be so nice to have Maria as a sister and a friend. If John was not interested in fashion, at least Maria was! They could spend many a morning pouring over the fashion gazettes that John would surely garner from London for her, because a man in love would do anything for his lady! And speaking of London, John was certain to take her there sometime, perhaps even for a honeymoon if she said she would particularly like to see it. London, where everything happened!

And so he had stumbled upon her one morning with a purpose. It helped that she had chosen to walk towards Lucas Lodge when she knew him to be exercising his steed, dressed in her finest muslin dress, her hair curled to perfection in anticipation. He was fidgeting, and she blushed rosily and, she hoped, rather prettily. This might be the moment.

It was.

"Miss Kitty…Catherine…" She thought she rather liked how Catherine sounded when he said it. He took her hand, holding it between his much larger palms, "I...I have come to admire you. You are just the kind of girl…woman!" he recovered, "woman, that I can see being very comfortably situated with. You would be a wonderful helpmate, and I believe we have similar interests enough to guarantee some felicity together. Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?"

The yes was there, right on the tip of her tongue, but she could not do it. He had mentioned so briefly an abstracted admiration for her, spending the majority of his proposal talking of wanting a comfortable partner, a helpmate (whatever that was). There had been no more words of affection, of love! And she had been so certain that he was in love with her. Having someone in love with you was so much more flattering than having someone ask you to be their companion as if one were a dog or an elderly spinster you only needed around to occasionally darn your stockings!

And so, she couldn't say yes! Instead she had stuttered out a rather inelegant no, and turned on her heel to rush back towards the safety of Longbourn. She did not see him turn pale, then jam his hat back on his head and start to pull his horse around quickly, headed towards his own home where he could tend to his wounds in private. If she had seen him, it might have had an effect on her.

Not that it would have changed her answer, oh no! For Kitty had learned something about herself in that brief moment whilst contemplating her answer, something she hadn't quite expected. During all of the lectures she had ever received from her mother, Mrs. Bennet had never once spoken to her daughters of the importance of falling in love with their husbands. Yes, of course the man would be in love with them, because they were ever so cheerful and pretty, but Kitty had always understood that to be the extent of affection needed in marriage. The Bennet girls were to marry for pecuniary reasons, not for affection or otherwise, and Kitty had always gone along with her mother's reasons. It was much better to be comfortably situated, than poor but in love. Now Kitty knew that she had to have love. Or at least she had to actually like her suitor! And no matter how handsome John Lucas looked in his riding clothes, she didn't love him. She didn't really even like him. He was boring, talking of sheep and wool and investments. He probably liked King Lear, too!

The rest of that day, and the next, she had been remarkably down, especially having to endure the announcement of a courtship coming from Mr. Darcy and her sister Lizzy. She worried for Lizzy. Though it seemed like she enjoyed Mr. Darcy's attentions, hadn't they all always hated him? Had Lizzy accepted Mr. Darcy because he was wealthy? Sometimes she would act so oddly around him, like she wasn't entirely comfortable with her decision. Lizzy was so smart. Just like their father. And she was ever so good-humored. Mr. Darcy was silent and dour. Could she really be happy with someone like that? Could it be that Lizzy did not believe in love?

And that led Kitty back to contemplating her own problems. How was she to inform her family of what she had done? News of this nature could not stay hidden for long. Eventually it would get out. Obviously Maria Lucas, in her brother's confidence, would have it from him almost from the moment he returned home, and Maria Lucas did not know the meaning of the word secret! Any day now, Kitty expected her to arrive at Longbourn, righteous indignation punctuating her every step, the story bursting from her before she even took a seat in the sitting room. And then Mrs. Bennet would know: And what punishments would then rain down on Kitty's head for she had done the very opposite of what Mrs. Bennet had always advised!

And so poor Kitty Bennet awakened the day of the wedding with a red nose and dark puffy skin under her eyes. A day and a half spent in bitter recriminations had done their worst to her appearance. Though her older sisters had also spent sleepless nights, there was no sign of it. Only Kitty had ever been susceptible to such humiliating maladies; yet another way in which she could not keep up with her more captivating siblings.

It was perhaps a fluke that Maria Lucas chose that day to corner Kitty in the Longbourn Gardens immediately after Jane and Mr. Bingley had set off on their honeymoon. Perhaps, but unlikely.

Kitty had been aware that Maria was looking at her oddly, but she rather hoped that her moment of reckoning was not at hand. But Maria, like Lydia, lacked the ability for subtlety within their make-ups when they were irritated about something, "How could you say no to John, Kitty? Don't you know he is in love with you? I swear to you that you have broken his heart!" Poor Maria's recital had a decimating effect on Kitty. Maria's eyes were already tearing up and her voice was higher-pitched than normal. She was on the verge of an emotional outpouring, and Kitty had no defense against that.

"I did not mean to, truly Maria, I did not!" Kitty pleaded with her friend in low urgent tones hoping their conversation would not be noticed by Mrs. Bennet still bustling around the gardens ordering the servants to pick up the remains from the wedding breakfast. "When he asked though, I knew that I did not love him, that I could not marry him." _And _she wanted to say, _he does not love me_, but Kitty had often lacked the courage to say all that she wished when faced with adversity.

"Love him? You have spent so many of your mornings together; you have talked and enjoyed each other's company! What is love but that, I ask!"

"But there is no fire. No burning or yearning to be with him." _And he bores me._ But she could not say that.

"Fire! Yearnings to be with him! You mean like in _Romance of the Forest_ or _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, I suppose!" Maria looked at her pityingly, "But Kitty, those are just stories!"

"It _is_ real! It does happen. What of Jane? She and Mr. Bingley are in love. You have seen them together, yourself!" Kitty finally found her courage, her new found appreciation for love being necessary in marriage, making her indignant at such…such blasphemy from her usually romantic friend.

"Jane is…Jane is…" Maria floundered. "Well, my brother Mr. Collins who has been married a long time now says that marriage has little to do with romance, and any love you feel for your spouse should be restrained in the interest of mutual felicity."

"Mr. Collins is the stupidest man I know!" _And no doubt it was Charlotte who had uttered such drivel hoping the odious parson wouldn't come anywhere near her._

"He is not! And more so, my sister Charlotte agrees with him. She is forever writing of how comfortable it is to have her own household to care for, how wonderful it is to have the patronage of Rosing's park, which I must tell you, having been there myself, it is a true honor indeed. And never does she mention love, or burnings or yearnings or anything of that sort at all!"

After such a speech, spoken with such sureness and ignorance, Kitty could only feel sorrow for her dear friend. What would Maria eventually be forced to endure if she did not learn that love in marriage was necessary? There was nothing left for her to say; they differed so much in their opinions that it was best to be done with this conversation and never speak of it again. Fortunately, Lizzy came upon her at the moment with an urgent message from their mother.

Mrs. Bennet was found by the sisters, sitting in her spotless parlor, the tidying of the estate long ago accomplished by their efficient servants. A handkerchief was at her nose, and her hands were fluttering nervously. It was not what Kitty would have expected after the triumph of such a day, for no longer could Lady Lucas boast of her superior son-in-law when Jane was now Mrs. Bingley!

"Oh where is that girl!" She turned towards the door, just as Lizzy and Kitty entered. Lizzy lightly squeezed Kitty's hand before offering her an encouraging smile. Kitty still riled from her conversation with Maria missed all of the warning signs. "Kitty?" Her mother's voice was shriller than normal. "I would speak to you!"

"Here I am, mama."

"Oh, my nerves! How could you?" One hand rose to massage a throbbing temple. "And, of course, Lady Lucas would lord it over me that her own son-in-law would soon to be master of this house, and how one of my own daughters wasn't good enough for that bore, John Lucas." _She knows! _"I don't know why you would want to be mistress of Lucas Lodge, the drawing rooms are dreadful, and Lady Lucas does not have the same good taste for furnishing as I, but…well…you aren't nearly as beautiful as Jane, nor as jolly as Lydia— you must take what you can get. How could you refuse him? Why, he must have at least 1,000 pounds a year! Not as much as your father, but then again, you aren't nearly as beautiful as your sisters!"

"Mama!" Lizzy interjected. Kitty would be forever grateful that Lizzy had chosen to not leave the room.

"Oh, hold your tongue, Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet snapped.

"Mama, did you not say some of the same things when I refused Mr. Collins? And now," she choked a bit over the name, "Mr. Darcy, a man ten times his worth, has asked to court me."

"You _should_ have married Mr. Collins. To be turned out of my own home by that upstart and his scheming wife!" Lizzy discretely rolled her eyes at Kitty at their mother's fallible logic, and Kitty felt infinitely better. There was a sudden kinship between the sisters that had never existed before. Lizzy had also rejected a viable suitor, in their parent's eyes, at least, turning down the odious Mr. Collins. Perhaps she was not so mercenary as Kitty feared? _Then again, Mr. Darcy was much wealthier than Mr. Collins._ But that was unkind, and Kitty knew it, particularly when Lizzy was acting her champion. If Lizzy was on her side, there was little her mother could do to her now!

"But then Mr. Darcy would not have been able to pay me his addresses," Lizzy said calmly.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips, thinking. "I suppose you are right," she finally conceded.

"And think of all the men that Jane and I could introduce Kitty to in London. She might even engage the affections of a peer, if only she could be introduced to one as a single lady and not as the fiancée or wife of John Lucas!"

Mrs. Bennet's eyes gleamed with a mercenary light, that one of her own daughters could become a Lady, or even a Countess!

But Kitty hardly noticed this: London? It was where she most wanted to go! "Would you really take me to London, Lizzy?" She did not know how the innocent yearning in her voice touched the heart of her older sister. Kitty had been neglected for too long. Lizzy and Jane had spent so many months in London themselves, with the Gardiners, going to the theatre and parties, but the other girls had always remained at home. She had never considered how much they must have wished for such a treat themselves!

"Of course, Kitty!" Lizzy smiled impishly as another thought occurred to her, "And I'm certain that if you are very good, perhaps our Aunt and Uncle could be convinced to invite you to stay with them in London before Jane even returns from her honeymoon."

"Oh, Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet spoke. "What can the Gardiners do for her when they know none of the peers! No, we must wait for Jane, for I'm certain that Mr. Bingley is so agreeable as to have many friends among the great men of England."

"Certainly, Mama." But Kitty, unlike their parent, had learned long ago not to underestimate Lizzy; that lesson had involved her favorite doll and an obliging mud puddle! She looked to her now, and saw the militant look in her eye, knowing that by hook or by crook, Lizzy would get her to London as soon as possible, no matter their mother's objections.

And suddenly things did not look so bad anymore!


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Mrs. Gardiner understandably had some misgivings at allowing Kitty to accompany her young family back to London and stay with them for a time. She'd had little experience with the second youngest Bennet daughter, but her observations had given her no little doubt as to that daughter's capabilities to behave herself in such a public setting as London, the capital of all polite society!

Kitty was not Lydia, that was certain, but she had been under Lydia's shadow far too long for there to be much distinction between the two. All Mrs. Gardiner had seen made her wonder what manner of improprieties she would be forced to curtail and suppress once Kitty reached London. And with her own four children to direct, she did not relish the addition of a cousin who had been too long petted and indulged.

That Lizzy was pleading quite intelligently and logically for her sister to be included in the Gardiner's plans was very much in Kitty's favor, as Lizzy had always been a favorite, both for her personality and her good sense; her request could not be entirely disregarded. If Lizzy thought it was a good idea...

Mrs. Gardiner had already had a conversation with Miss Darcy just the day before and in a similar vein as the one now taking place, and it had left her with much to think on. She had contemplated and wondered, for she especially was sensitive to the general melancholy that surrounded her niece. That something should be done she had not doubted, but what _could_ be done had been a subject discussed at some length between her and her own worthy spouse. And now with Lizzy pleading for Kitty to be included in the party going to London and Mrs. Gardiner's own doubts as to how she could possible manage if Kitty became unruly, it did not take much on her part to come to a suitable solution that would certainly please both parties so desperate for their wishes to be fulfilled.

A bit of subterfuge seemed necessary, and Mrs. Gardiner set about the task with much subtlety. "Lizzy, I can't say that I don't have some misgivings, for I have. We have often spoken, your Uncle and I, of our preference for your and Jane's company at our home in London. We have often considered inviting Mary as she seems to be of a solid kind of a character but have concluded that perhaps she would not wish to be far from Longbourn for the length of time that a proper visit would entail. Of Kitty and Lydia though…"

Elizabeth moved to protest, but her Aunt held up a restraining hand. "I know what you would say. But you cannot deny that you have heard how Lydia comported herself so recently when her choices led her to spending no little time in our home. And Kitty…frankly Lizzy, I have not seen much over the years to differentiate between the two. What would Kitty do when exposed to such diversity as London has to offer?"

"But Aunt you must admit that without Lydia's influence, Kitty has been much calmer."

Mrs. Gardiner did not answer immediately. It was true, to some extent, what Lizzy was saying. She had often seen Kitty sitting calmly in a corner of the sitting room reading, or even helping her mother with some of the more tedious wedding preparations. And occasionally she had even spent an hour entertaining her cousins with lively games. But there had also been moments of excessive silliness where Mrs. Gardiner was dismayed to see such a lack of propriety in a girl nearing her twentieth year.

"I will agree that this is so," she finally concluded. "However, I would wonder if her new-found maturity is due to a lack of excitement available to her at home. Perhaps it is the familiarity of her surroundings that has led to her more serious comportment. But Lizzy, as you know, Longbourn is not London. There will be much opportunity for mischief, and with my own four children to supervise, I fear that I will not have the necessary time to watch her, to check her against inappropriate excesses."

"But you proved an adequate chaperone for Lydia."

"I was not alone in that chaperonage."

"I do not believe I understand."

Mrs. Gardiner sighed. "Your own uncle concluded that it would be most wise of him to take additional time away from his business to aid me at home."

Elizabeth was instantly chagrined. Though the Gardiners were considered rather affluent tradesmen in their own social sphere, Mr. Gardiner, after his lengthy holiday showing his wife and his niece around Derbyshire, could ill-afford to have taken off so much more time from his business to supervise a wayward niece! What it must have cost him? And all for a girl who had done nothing to deserve it! Elizabeth was not yet willing to yield to her aunt's arguments, though, for she had promised Kitty so faithfully that she would secure for her a holiday in London. And with her mother being so vexed by Kitty's refusal of John Lucas, something must be done to shield her inexperienced sister from her mother's fury which would not remain contained forever.

"I am in no way doubting your sense or good will, Lizzy," Mrs. Gardiner soothed. "It does you credit that you would want your sister to experience some of the gaieties of the city, but I would wish for her to have a little more of your good sense before I invite her alone to London." Elizabeth's head shot up at that particular phrasing, and she gave her Aunt a rather inquisitive look. "It has been brought to my attention that your own presence in London would be highly desirable by an acquaintance of ours," Mrs. Gardiner explained.

"Whoever could you mean, Aunt?"

"You do not know of whom I speak?"

Elizabeth's eyebrows drew together confusedly, and she shook her head once.

"I must say, Lizzy," Mrs. Gardiner teased, "I was a bit put out that I received news of your advantageous courtship with Mr. Darcy from your mother rather than from yourself."

Lizzy had hoped, rather foolishly it looked in hindsight, that her aunt and uncle would remain ignorant of Mr. Darcy's request until long after the courtship had come to its bitter end. Now it looked like she would have to extend a false sense of cheerfulness to those relatives that she would never wish to deceive. "With Jane's wedding, there was so much to be done."

Mrs. Gardiner patted her hand. "I understand, my dear, it is still new and exciting. I will expect word from YOU before the banns are read, however."

Elizabeth tried to smile, "Of course."

"Miss Darcy approached me yesterday, praising you to the skies in her own quiet way, with high hopes that your uncle and I would be willing to extend an invitation to you to accompany us to London so that she might spend some more time with you once her own party removes to the city. I cannot believe that it is only for _her _sake that she has made such a request." Mrs. Gardiner raised an eyebrow slyly at her niece, "I must say, Miss Darcy is very different from the nervous creature that we met in Derbyshire this summer. I wonder what has merited the change."

Elizabeth had far too much modesty to credit herself for the beginnings of Georgiana's transformation from a shy girl to a young woman nearly ready to move successfully amongst the ton. Instead she returned to the salient point of her aunt's words, "You are inviting me to London?"

"Yes."

"But…"

Mrs. Gardiner held up another restraining hand, "Before you continue with what I am sure are some very well thought out demurs, I must say that I think it is an excellent idea. This is my only condition if you would still wish for me to issue an invitation to Kitty. You must accompany her and agree to be the responsible party monitoring her various amusements. What better guide for her than her own elder sister?"

"I hadn't considered…that is…" She did so much want Kitty to go to London. But Mr. Darcy, out of necessity, would leave Netherfield soon, heading to London, he had said. And he would be eager to continue their courtship, especially with her so near. To be subjected to more of Mr. Darcy's attentions when she knew herself to be so unworthy?

Something would have to be done, and soon. She was becoming increasing disappointed with herself, for now that the moment of confession was upon her, she felt she did not want to tell Mr. Darcy. If only there was another way to turn him away without admitting her guilt. But no other option had as yet occurred to her; no, she must confess!

She had to concede that she was very tempted to accept her aunt's invitation, for once her role in Lady Catherine's death was generally known, there would no longer be the possibility of visiting London, going to the theatre or the museums.

Additionally, London was a big enough place that she never need meet Mr. Darcy after her confession. His social circle was so vastly superior to the Gardiners that perhaps news of her perfidy would not be publicized amongst her aunt's and uncle's acquaintances until long after she had faded back into the anonymity of Longbourn.

After further thought, she found she could not resist, for having a hand in promoting a sister's happiness was too much of a temptation; after all, what would Kitty also suffer once Elizabeth was exposed! Not even John Lucas would want her then.

And so she accepted as graciously as she could, kissed her aunt on the cheek and escaped quickly to share the news of their combined good fortune with Kitty.

"Well?" Kitty was trying to restrain herself, but there was already an inner excitement coursing through her, begging to be released.

"Aunt Gardiner was kind enough to invite both of us to London."

It was to Kitty's credit that she did not complain that her favorite dream was to be shared with her much older sister. "Oh, how wonderful! But what if we are to go to parties and balls and the theatre? I'm certain that all of my dresses are so dowdy! Oh, Lizzy, what am I to do?"

There was the Kitty that Lizzy had long known! "I'm sure Papa will give us some spending money, and if you are very careful you will be able to find plenty of lace and ribbons to buy to trim even the dowdiest of dresses!"

Kitty's eyes lit up, "You are right, Lizzy; why I saw just such a thing in the fashion gazettes that looked very much like my mint muslin with the thinnest of white ribbon woven at the bust and the hem."

Elizabeth smiled indulgently, "Kitty, that sounds lovely."

* * *

><p>The day after the wedding, Mrs. Bennet set about cleaning up the church, her three remaining single daughters in tow. While it might be seen as most generous of her, it must be noted that such an idea would not have occurred to her if Mrs. Gardiner hadn't pointed out how aged their parson Mr. Robinson was looking. Surely he would appreciate if they took down the decorations and disposed of the flowers?<p>

Mr. Darcy was set to leave for London the following day. Miss Bingley and the Hursts, had already left very early that morning, only spending one obligatory night at Netherfield. There had been little interaction between the two parties though Miss Bingley had pointedly reminded the Darcy's that she was expecting to see them enjoying the diversities the city had to offer as soon as possible. And with Bingley already left on his honeymoon, Darcy couldn't reasonably stay in the manor without a host.

Wanting one more moment with Elizabeth, he had come to Longbourn just as the women were gathering to depart. Though he was not enthusiastic about aiding in the cleaning of the church, he was certain that sometime during the morning he would be able to separate Elizabeth from the others to tender the kind of goodbye he would like. He could not know that Elizabeth was set to come to London, and thus, he was a bit melancholy, wondering when he would next see her.

Mrs. Bennet, with two daughters married, felt her success most keenly and manipulated things such that Mr. Darcy found himself, not long after walking the ladies to the church, banished from any of the cleaning tasks with a bewildered Elizabeth at his side. If only Mr. Darcy would propose, Mrs. Bennet felt that her success would be complete and she could leave the other two girls to their sisters' machinations!

"The wedding was beautiful; my compliments," said Mr. Darcy as they moved out of the vestibule.

Elizabeth looked at him with widened eyes, having not expected such a compliment. "I…thank you, I will certainly pass on your kindnesses to my mother."

"I was speaking of your own contributions."

Elizabeth blushed darkly, and Darcy longed to touch her cheek, wondering if it was as warm as it appeared. For now he restrained himself knowing that he had embarrassed her. Instead he offered her a reprieve, "I have always enjoyed the change of the seasons. A chance to enjoy something different."

"I must admit I have missed the green grass. Not since early autumn has the world looked so alive," Elizabeth said eagerly, grateful for the lighter conversation. "Winter has never been my favorite. It keeps me indoors too much!"

As this was one of the particular parts of her personality that Darcy found appealing, he could do little more than smile.

"Why do you smile, sir?"

"Will you not call me Fitzwilliam?"

"As we are neither related nor engaged, propriety dictates that I refer to you as Sir, or Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth answered pertly.

"And if we were to become engaged?" It was out before he could stop it. He had only entered into a courtship three days ago and already he wanted more!

"I…" she could say nothing more, but only look away, knowing that it could never be so. Hastily she wiped the few tears away that had formed in her eyes.

"_Miss_ Elizabeth, what is it?"

"You know I think my favorite season is spring, when all the flowers have begun to bloom."

He took her hand in his, turning it over to cradle the palm. "But we were not speaking of the seasons any longer."

She tried to tug her hand away, but he did not allow it, "I find I would prefer to speak of them once more."

Darcy sighed, wondering again why she had suddenly closed herself off to him. If she was regretting agreeing to the courtship, he did not know that he could bear the agony of being twice rejected when he had been blessed so briefly to feel such hope. He looked behind him, past the entrance of the church, and into the interior to see Mrs. Bennet diligently pulling down the last of the flower arrangements while Kitty polished the candelabras.

He would not have many more uninterrupted moments with Elizabeth. Now was the time to have that conversation they had both been avoiding. "I have not shared with you my family's latest news."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my cousin Anne, now owner of Rosings, has become engaged to my other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam." Steeling himself, he hoped that he was doing the right thing.

"Ah…" she turned away, refusing to look at him.

"I believe together they will do a credible job of restoring Rosings to its former glory," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"But Rosings was…"

"Ostentatious, unprofitable, insipid?" He smirked, "Yes, it was all of those things. I fear my Aunt Catherine did not have a head for business."

She said nothing but he could see her pursing her lips beneath the brim of her bonnet. He hoped she was not weeping; he was always so unsure of what to do with emotional females. But he would push onward; there was so much that must be cleared between them. And if the only reason she was so reticent with him was because of his aunt, then he would rather speak of it and endure the awkwardness. For if she was regretting the courtship...

"My aunt was family, but even she had her faults." He moved to face her, but she refused to look up. With one finger he reached for her chin, raising her eyes to his. Her eyes were wet with already shed tears. "She came to see you before she died. She spoke to you, didn't she?"

"I…" she tried to wrench her chin away, but he would not have it.

"Elizabeth," his voice was low and soothing, like that of one trying to calm a baby. "Please do not fear me. You may tell me. I would wish you to tell me everything."

"I do not fear for myself…"

His eyes narrowed as he realized what she had not said. "For your family?" She closed her eyes as her face contorted in pain. _Oh this was too much to bear. Even for him! _ "I have tried so hard to gain your trust, and I would have it. What would you imagine that I would do to you? That I would do to them? What are you afraid of?"

"Not so long ago you told me how far beneath you they were," she retorted angrily. "Why would you care for their fate?"

"But I have not…"

"_I_ have observed you this past week. You treat them with haughty disdain. You can't wait to be free of them!"

He reeled back. How was it that she still saw him as the haughty creature he had tried so desperately to abandon? He had thought he was something more in her eyes, that she had seen him try to change, that she believed him to have improved himself. He had avoided Miss Bingley and her pretentions at Bingley's wedding just the day before; rather he had interacted with the silly Mrs. Long and the verbose Sir William! And he had even enjoyed speaking to Mr. Phillips. How could he have failed her again?

He did not want her to see his pain, he wished to look away, to run away from her to recover, but he could not. Instead, he studied her closely, memorizing her features, not understanding, not comprehending, but knowing that this would be the last time he would ever be this close to her again (for there was no hope for him if that was how she truly felt).

The one thing he saved for last, a long look deep into her eyes to see the hazel flecks mingled with the green, to be mesmerized by their depths. But there was something there, something deep within those very eyes that spoke to him at a whole different level. For even though she was still speaking condemnations of him, there was _the_ something, an unknown emotion that she was trying to hide.

And suddenly he knew what it was, and he also knew he would never abandon her again. For that which was in her eyes was the very same emotion that he had seen in his own several times before in the last few months, when he had chanced to see his reflection in a passing mirror. The bleakness of the certainty of a denied love. She felt for him. Perhaps just as deeply as he for her! And perversely, she was doing all that she could to set him free. Why?

For all the times he was convinced that he had told her, both in words and otherwise, how he felt about her, she still did not believe that he loved her! "Elizabeth! I love you," he interrupted.

She gaped at him— hadn't he heard a word that she had said? Like an unexpected ray of sunshine in a darkened sky, it had occurred to her that she need not ruin her family if she could turn him away from her by thinking she did not care for him. Not many hours before she had dismally accepted her fate. But this was better! She was doing what must be done by the easiest possible way. She need not confess and ruin her family! Why had she not thought of this sooner? And why was he not reacting the way he should?

"Well, I don't! I don't…" she turned away. She could not say it with him staring at her like that. She could not lie to those eyes, those dear eyes that revealed his heart, on the verge of breaking."I don't…"

"Look at me, Elizabeth," this time his hand forced her to face him fully. He was looking at her so intently that she knew he was seeing everything she was so desperate to hide from him, "You cannot say it, can you?"

No she could not, but she had to do something. She twisted herself away from him, moving a distance apart to face the deserted churchyard.

He raised a hand, tore his hat off his head and threw it away. "What is it you aren't telling me?" he demanded.

The moment had come; she could see no way out. Every other option had failed; she must make a clean break of it, tell him what they both would wish to be unsaid in a moment. "It is my fault that Lady Catherine is dead." There she had done it— she had finally found the courage. She moved away at a brisk walk, ready to run, to sprint away, but he was quicker than she; barely had she begun when he was in front of her, one of his hands shooting out to grab her, restricting her progress,

"You could not be at fault," he insisted. "Her death was ruled as apoplexy."

"Apoplexy brought upon by anger. Anger at me."

"What did my aunt say?"

She had expected anger, disgust, but not this…this curiosity. "Sir, please release me."

"I will not let you get away. I cannot, Elizabeth," he finished roughly.

"How can you still wish for me to remain? After all I have told you?"

"You have not told me anything!" he exploded. "What did she say to you? If you are so certain that you were the cause of her death, then confess it all! Tell me why I should blame you and not my aunt!"

"We should not speak so of the dead."

He let go of her arm only to grab her by the shoulders to shake her slightly, "Don't think that trite phrases will distract me. Tell me!"

She blushed more deeply than he had ever seen. "She spoke of you." She closed her eyes, completely mortified, and when she began speaking again, her voice was so low he had to move even closer to her to hear it. He could smell the rose water on her skin and feel her hair tickling his cheek, but he little heeded it. "She'd heard a rumor that I had…had…trapped you into an engagement." Her shoulders slumped as she recalled that dreadful day. "I was impertinent. She got very angry then, demanded to know if you had made me an offer of marriage. I was so…so…well…there is certainly no excuse for what I did. I told her yes."

They were very close together now; the top of her head was almost resting on his chest. If he moved but an inch, he would hold her in his embrace.

"It was the truth," he asserted.

She instantly retorted, "But I should not have said it. I knew how angry she was."

He remained perfectly still, not wanting to startle her, enjoying every moment of having her this close to him. "And then?" he asked very gently.

"That is all," she whispered, her words a half sob. "She collapsed straight away into the rhododendrons. We called for the apothecary, but there was nothing he could do. She…she was already dead."

"And this is why you think it is your fault?" She mistook his incredulity for anger.

"But it is! If I had not…"

"No!" He gave her another little shake. "No. I will not allow her specter to continue to haunt you! What she did was wrong! To interrogate you so, in your own home. To expect that you would give way to her archaic and inane commands!"

Elizabeth raised one hand to swipe away the tears clouding her vision. "But you must see that even if that is so, we must not continue on this course. You are too magnanimous, sir. But one day, perhaps, it will not be so. You will resent your choice. And you will hate me for it."

"No, Elizabeth! No." He did not notice that in his bewilderment his hands had gone slack on her shoulders. But she had felt his withdrawal, and she pulled herself free.

"Mr. Darcy. I release you."

"Elizabeth…" He was too stunned to move. "You cannot mean to…"

"No, Fitzwilliam." She looked at him in the eye, her back rigid and strong, "I release you."

Then she turned again and hurried away. He did not follow. "I will never see him again," And _this _time she knew it to be true.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

If anyone would have thought to ask her, Mary Bennet would have admitted that spending some time in London with her aunt and uncle was not all that unappealing. If she was allowed to bring her books and her favorite sheets of music, she might even dare say a trip to the capital would be all that was enjoyable.

Of two things she was absolutely certain: the pianoforte at Gracechurch Street was far superior to theirs at Longbourn, and in London she would not be forced to endure neighborly visits with her mother.

Already she had been called upon to listen to Lady Lucas and her mother pretending not to squabble over whose married daughter was most eligibly settled. Lady Lucas, of course, felt that Charlotte was the more successful of the two, having married the heir to an old and fairly profitable estate. Why Mr. Bingley was only renting Netherfield! Mrs. Bennet countered—red faced at such audacity, reminding her of her own failings at providing Mr. Bennet with an heir!– at least Mr. Bingley was a man of vastly independent means. _He _did not have to wait for a man with a family to pass from this world before pouncing on what was only lawfully his own. And so the civil argument had continued through the entirety of the requisite morning visit of one half hour. Finally, Lady Lucas had taken her leave, a thundercloud of righteousness, furious at such daring from her usually amiable hostess!

Later, that very day, Mary had been obliged to walk into Meryton and endure a visit with her Aunt Phillips, a woman sillier and much more prone to indelicate conversations than even her own mother. She sat as close to the door of her aunt's parlor as possible and tried to ignore the strident sounds of her mother's voice as she relayed all of Longbourn's gossip and enjoyed listening to all that had happened over the past week in Meryton. Did her mother not know to "hold your tongues, as good sense and unaffected nature prompts"? But Mrs. Bennet never appreciated her strictures, particularly those penned by Fordyce.

If only her uncle were here; perhaps he might invite her to play a scandalous game of chess or let her find a book to read from his bookroom. As it was, she had begged and pleaded with her mother to be released from this particular obligation, but her mother had been unyielding. And as Mary was in considerable awe of her father, she did not bother asking him for any kind of reprieve.

The clock on the mantel was ticking closer to tea time, and she wondered if her uncle would be coming to join them. She might not have to endure this unpleasantness for much longer! Her aunt was never quite so loquacious when she was in the presence of her spouse.

Soon enough, she heard several voices out in the hall and recognized the warm baritone of her uncle among them. He spoke briefly to one of the Phillips' maids, and the young servant answered his query in the affirmative, "Yes, the ladies are within."

A second male voice spoke, one Mary had never heard before. Oh dear, had her uncle brought someone else for tea? Mary colored instantly; though she had yet to see this mysterious guest, men in general, even if they were direct relatives, made her nervous. She wondered if her uncle had invited the man knowing that she and her mother would be here. Surreptitiously, she raised a finger to her mouth and began chewing on a ragged fingernail. What was she to do? Hopefully, the man was old and married; that she could probably endure.

"Mary!" her mother chided her, glaring at the finger still between her teeth. Mary lowered her hand to her lap.

"It sounds like your Uncle Phillips has brought a friend for tea," Aunt Phillips tittered.

The door opened and in stepped Uncle Phillips. His girth was wide enough to fill the doorway and conceal his guest from the ladies, but his wife was unable to contain her curiosity a moment longer. "Well, Phillips? Whom have you brought with you today?" she demanded crudely.

"Suppose her, if you will, entirely silent from a disposition to give place to others who may feel more desirous of talking," Mary muttered under her breath. Her mother turned to glare at her sharply.

Her uncle moved to greet his wife and sister, keeping Mrs. Bennet from making whatever stinging reproach she had planned for her middle child. And Mary got her first look at the Phillips' visitor. He was young, much younger than Mary had hoped for, and by the state of his clothes— a rumpled mess of a cravat, and his shirt wrinkled— probably not married. He wasn't exactly handsome, Mary decided, pushing her spectacles up her nose, but he wasn't hideous either. A good woman, or a good housekeeper, she quickly amended, would surely set things to rights within his household. She wondered who he was.

"Oh Mr. Perkins, so kind of you to join us!" Her aunt was all that was solicitous. You would think that she was greeting royalty or, at the very least, a member of the peerage.

"Mr. Perkins?" Mrs. Bennet attempted to catch her sister's eye, looking for an introduction.

"Oh yes, how silly of me." Aunt Phillips stood belatedly, and Mary and her mother followed suit.

"That's all right, my dear," said Uncle Phillips. "No need to stand on ceremony. Fanny, Mary, this is my new clerk, Mr. Perkins."

Mr. Perkins had reddened under the scrutiny of all three ladies and stuttered out a reply, "So kind to m…m…meet you. I h…h…hope you are all w…w…well?" He directed his comments to all the ladies, though his eyes lingered for a moment longer on Mary than she thought was strictly civil.

He approached them all to make his bow, and Mary was caught by the blueness of his eyes. Never had she seen such a color, like the blue of the sky on a warm summer day. They entranced her, and she could not look away from them. And suddenly, Mary decided that she had been wrong about Mr. Perkins needing a housekeeper. Perhaps there was something else he needed much more!

* * *

><p>Gracechurch Street was much as it ever was and a very welcome respite for Lizzy from her own disorderly home. She had not slept well in days, not since she had ended the courtship with Mr. Darcy. She had, thankfully, not had to see him again after her confession, though Miss Darcy had been kind enough to call to take her leave before the two siblings had left for London. After such solicitousness from both the brother <em>and<em> the sister, Elizabeth was beginning to wonder if she had made the right choice. In fact, it was this very worry that kept her awake, ensuring she got little rest— not in her comfortable bed at Longbourn, not during the carriage ride to London, and not in the bed she now shared with Kitty. Of course it did not help that Kitty had never been a peaceful sleeper, and that her excitement at being in the city at long last only exacerbated the problem.

In the two and a half days since they had arrived in London, Kitty, in her eagerness, had already spent the majority of her allowance on new ribbons and lace to trim her dresses. She had been thrilled to see a vender with a dozen pies stacked high on his head, and even the milkmaids in Green Park. Never in Meryton had there been such sights! The rest of her days were spent rather industriously, attaching her new purchases to her old dresses and sighing over not being able to afford any fabric to make a new dress instead. She hardly noticed her own sister puttering around their aunt's apartments, doing little, saying hardly anything, trying to smile as her young cousins attempted to entertain her.

Her aunt did notice, though, and it wasn't long before she contrived a way to corner Elizabeth. "Lizzy, I have seen you extremely preoccupied the last few days. Is everything well?"

Elizabeth plastered a large smile on her face, "It is all well, Aunt. I am only tired from the journey."

As Elizabeth was a robust and relatively frequent traveler, Mrs. Gardiner did not believe her for a moment. "I would have expected the Darcys to be calling on us soon. Have you not sent around a note apprising them of your arrival in the city?"

"I have not…there has not…no," Lizzy mumbled.

"Lizzy!" Her aunt was stunned. Lizzy was not known for being so remiss. She wondered if something had happened between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy that was making her niece act so reticently now. Remembering the small dramas during her own courtship and engagement, she thought perhaps it was likely. "Well perhaps you should," she counseled.

Elizabeth smiled and nodded though she had no intention of doing so. Fortunately, before her aunt could scrutinize her further, the nursery maid arrived with an urgent summons for Mrs. Gardiner, and Elizabeth was free.

She had not seen much of Kitty that morning, and she went to look for her sister. Kitty, with all of her high spirits, would ensure that Lizzy had little time to think of anything but lace, balls, and shopping. It would be a welcome diversion from her troubles.

"Oh, Lizzy, there you are; I was just going to find you." Kitty held up her mint green dress recently trimmed with new white ribbon on the sleeves and lace under the bust and at the hem. "Well, what do you think?"

Kitty had always had a knack for fashion, and Lizzy praised her work accordingly.

"You do not think that I need to put some lace at the collar? Mama would say…"

"No," Elizabeth interrupted quickly, "It is perfect just the way it is."

Kitty sighed, "I suppose someone like Miss Darcy would never have to trim her own dresses."

"Kitty, that is unkind," Lizzy chided.

"I know it is." Kitty's eyes dropped to her lap. After a few moments, she looked up, only to smile slyly at her sister, "Well at least when you are Mrs. Darcy, you can have as many new dresses as you like and employ fifty ladies to re-trim them every day!"

Suddenly the room seemed unusually warm for Lizzy. "Kitty, I was just thinking," she said desperately, "perhaps we could take a carriage ride, and then a walk up St. James Street? Though we will never be admitted to Almack's, we can gaze longingly at the revered exterior. And I promised father I would procure some books for him from Hatchards. And if you are very good, perhaps we could stop at Gunters. What do you say?"

Kitty's eyes lit up, "Oh, Lizzy, really? But I," she looked down at her dress made out of work muslin, "I have nothing to wear. To appear such in the fashionable district..."

Elizabeth cut off her protests, "Why not put on the green mint?"

Kitty looked down at her new creation, scrutinizing it carefully. "Yes Lizzy, you are right! I will change at once."

Lizzy also took herself above stairs to change for, as Kitty said, there was no need to appear dowdy on St. James Street!

* * *

><p>Mr. Darcy needed a distraction, and he needed one quickly. Only six days in London, and he had already completed all of the business he could reasonably expect for the next month. He had heard a rumor that Lord Bunting was already in town from his vastly profitable estates and had been seen frequently at Whites. Like Lady Jersey, Lord Bunting was not known for quiet contemplation, though his opinions were of more interest to the general male populace of London than that worthy Lady's strictures on debutantes. Mr. Darcy could be ensured of prompt and complete distraction if he could just encounter the man!<p>

Out of necessity he had left Meryton, though even now he was trying to formulate a plan to get himself back into Elizabeth's environs as quickly as he could. Thoughts such as these always fostered immediate futility, for he knew that he would be staying in London for some duration. He had a duty to his sister.

Georgiana was being especially mysterious lately, waiting for the postman anxiously each day, visibly dejected when no letters arrived addressed to her, but Darcy did not notice. If only he could find Lord Bunting!

Lord Bunting was, by nature, not an early riser, and Darcy managed to hold off approaching Whites until mid-afternoon that Friday, hoping that his verbose friend was already inside and had already partaken of his breakfast. Lord Bunting was never very talkative if his stomach was empty and grumbling.

Darcy leaned heavily on his cane as he walked down St. James street, for once in his life feeling much older than his actual age, wishing that somehow he had already acquired the wisdom to know what he ought to do. Why had his words, carefully chosen to alleviate her guilt, meant so little to Elizabeth?

Just as he was contemplating the wisdom of appearing at Whites in such a state of dejection, he heard a hail from the other side of the street.

"Darcy, ho!" It was Mr. Potts, a Cambridge fellow. It had been many months since Darcy had seen his friend and he managed to conjure up a real smile in greeting.

"I say, Darcy, you must come to my stables someday," Mr. Potts began with little preamble. He was an avid horseman, just come from Tattersalls, and was very enthusiastic about a new high stepper he had recently obtained. Mr. Darcy listened to him with half an ear. While it was not so easy to ignore Mr. Potts's chatter as Lord Bunting (Potts occasionally required a response), it was a nice respite to think of something besides Elizabeth.

Elizabeth. Just her name conjured up so much: agony, acute happiness, deep chagrin. The first few days outside of her company had been spent in a state of shock, trying to determine how it all had fallen apart. Mostly he would never forget that last look on her face, determination, as she released him from their courtship. Nothing in her face indicated anything beyond that. If she regretted her choice, she hid it carefully. But he could not let her go so easily. Not when he knew that she loved him. She could not deny it and neither could he.

Mr. Potts had asked him a something, he realized, and he had missed it. "Pardon, Potts, I was not attending."

Mr. Potts frowned, but as he was typically a good natured fellow, he repeated his question, "I haven't seen you in London as of late. Were you on your way to Whites?"

"Yes, just. If you were meaning to step in, perhaps we could travel there together?"

They had just begun to walk together when Mr. Darcy heard a female voice calling, "Lizzy! Haven't you found enough books already?"

Up ahead, near Hatchards, was a young brunette attempting to pull another lady outside the bookshop, while she laughingly teased her, "Come on, I want to go to Gunters. If we stay much longer you will buy the whole shop."

And then Darcy's heart stopped, for the second female answered in a voice he would never forget, "But Kitty I'm sure it was a second edition. Father would love to have it. Perhaps you would like to find a novel? I'm certain I saw a new Mrs. Radcliffe on the shelves."

There she stood like a vision, dressed in a simple walking dress, her curls secured under a matching bonnet. Her face was turned away from him, but he would know Elizabeth's figure anywhere. What was she doing in London? She had not mentioned that she would be coming. Little did Darcy care, for she was here, like the gift of manna from the heavens. And like the Israelites, he would not let this opportunity pass him by. He had been thinking that he would have to wait some months to see her again, and yet here she was, a mere week after he had last seen her.

His feet were already propelling him towards her – the woman who was his destiny if only she would believe it – little heeding Mr. Potts who was calling out to him, perturbed that he was moving past Whites. "I'll see you later, Potts," he called over his shoulder.

He was very close to the two Bennet sisters now, and they had heard him call out. Elizabeth's head snapped around, and she froze as he approached. Her eyes darted back to the interior of Hatchards, but she would not find refuge there. Why had she not considered how close to the gentlemen's clubs Hatchards was? In essence she was in _his_ territory. What was she to do?

"Miss Bennet." He bowed deeply, his eyes warm. That he had approached them at all and furthermore was being so kind, she had not expected.

Only years of being taught her manners allowed her to curtsy evenly and respond, "Mr. Darcy."

There was an awkward silence, until Kitty elbowed her sister in her ribs, reminding her of her presence, "Oh, Mr. Darcy, you remember my sister Kitty."

He barely tore his eyes away from Elizabeth, worried that she would vanish if he did not keep her in his sights. "Pleasure to see you again, Miss Kitty."

To her credit, Kitty bravely contained a very Lydia-like snort. "I hope you are enjoying your time in London, sir," she said instead.

"Yes, thank you, Miss Kitty, I do believe that there is little that can improve on my stay now." He inclined his head towards Elizabeth, who flushed and began shifting the packages in her arms. He was being entirely too attentive, and she little knew how to act.

"Perhaps you would allow me to assist you with your packages?"

"But you don't know where we are going," Kitty blurted out before turning a bright red at her own coarseness.

"I believe I heard mention of Gunters?"

"Well I have never been there before," Kitty said, feeling the need to defend herself.

"Miss Kitty, my own sister is an avid visitor of Gunters. It is one of London's most treasured shops."

Miss Kitty did not know how to respond for she did not recognize the humorous glint in his eye, but Elizabeth did. "Hence you have stumbled upon us making a maiden voyage to such a hallowed hall," she told him impishly.

Mr. Darcy smiled down at her, at his most charming. No, he would never let her go.

"May I offer you my escort to Gunters?" He carefully extracted her packages from her arms.

Elizabeth hesitated, but a pointed and confused look from her sister settled the thing, "Of course. Your company will be most welcome."

Mr. Darcy could not offer both ladies an arm with the significant parcel of books he was already carrying, but Kitty did not seem to mind; she walked along with the couple exclaiming at all of things that surrounded them. "Oh Lizzy have you ever seen anything so tall before?"

"Look at that house. I have never seen a color so bold."

"Why I do believe that lady had a dead partridge on her bonnet!"

All of this should have bothered Darcy, but it did not. Instead, he found himself fondly remembering his first visit to London; he had been but a child then and every new thing had entranced him. That so many people lived and thrived in such small spaces was the true novelty.

Now as an adult, he wondered when London had ceased to charm him. Probably about the time he had reached his majority and had suddenly been surrounded by the manipulative status-seeking women of the ton.

"Miss Kitty, I do not know if your tastes run to poetry, but William Blake's birthplace is down that small side street, in Golden Square." He pointed in the proper direction.

"Is it really?" Kitty appeared all that was interested.

Elizabeth wondered at it, "Have you been reading Blake, Kitty?"

"Yes. Father suggested poetry after I finished King Lear." She rolled her eyes, making her opinion of that literary work very apparent. "I find I enjoy poetry much better."

"But not King Lear?"

"Well no!" Kitty responded innocently, "Nobody talks like that anymore, and I do believe they never spoke like that either. Why no one could understand a thing anyone said to them without spending hours puzzling it all out!"

Mr. Darcy suppressed a grin.

"That is true," Elizabeth struggled with her own mirth. "Oh Kitty! Here is Almack's, where few are allowed and even fewer dare to enter."

Kitty turned to Mr. Darcy. "Have you been to Almack's, Mr. Darcy?" He had been so kind to her that she could not find much reason to fear him anymore.

Darcy had his own opinion of the stuffy ballroom, which did not tend to coincide with its formidable patronesses. "I have. I must say there are other places I find to be more invigorating."

"Blasphemous, sir!" Elizabeth teased. "What would Lady Cowper say?"

"A great deal, I am sure." He smiled down on her and leaned closer. "Though perhaps not as much as Lady Jersey herself!"

Elizabeth flushed at his teasing closeness, and it took her a moment to find her voice. "What could be more important than Almack's?" She had meant to sound impertinent, but her voice had taken on a tone of child-like wonder.

Mr. Darcy held up her parcels, "I find Hatchards to indeed be a favorite substitution."

It was entirely unanticipated of him to be so light and open, and Elizabeth laughed without realizing it. She sobered quickly, but not before he and Kitty had joined in as well. Elizabeth did not quite know what to do with herself, ambling along with such a companion. His very presence was discomposing, but that he, usually so quiet and staid, should appear so unreserved was a cause for much alarm. How was it that he had not turned away from her? She had expected otherwise, that he would be as unyielding as he always claimed to be. But here he was, gently teasing her and Kitty— no sign of unease at all! He could not have forgotten what she had told him. No, he was too smart for that. Was it possible…? No, surely not! She tried to remain lively, for it was hard not to be with such pleasant companions, and they were a merry party that arrived at Gunters.

Darcy, knowing the improprieties of sitting with two women in such a public place when they were not related, quickly took his leave, "Miss Bennet, Miss Kitty, I would very much like to call on you tomorrow. Would that be convenient?"

"I…yes." It was if he was still courting her, though she had very clearly ended things between them!

Mr. Darcy bowed deeply to the two ladies and handed Elizabeth her parcels, the expression in his eyes capturing her for a long moment before he bid them goodbye and turned to walk the way they had come. Where had he been headed that he could divert so much of his afternoon to escorting them? It was another source of discombobulation that he would so inconvenience himself for a woman who had rejected him not once but twice!

Kitty barely waited for the door of Gunters to close behind them before addressing her sister, "Lizzy, that was very kind of Mr. Darcy to escort us when his destination was obviously in the other direction. You never hinted at how charming he could be. I feel like I should like to know him better!"

Elizabeth sighed; perhaps she _had_ been wrong not to share the information of their failed courtship with her family. But she had not wanted to bear the embarrassments and platitudes her mother was sure to level at her for chasing yet another eligible suitor away. "Yes, he is very charming."

"What is it, Lizzy?" Kitty asked as they took a seat. "It is almost like you don't wish for his company, though even _I _can clearly see that you enjoy it."

"It is not that."

"Then what is it, Lizzy? What is the secret? I know there is something that happened, but I don't understand it at all! You have been so melancholy, and even now that Mr. Darcy is courting you, you are still not happy. Why did you allow it if you aren't happy? Don't you feel for him at all?"

"Oh, Kitty, I feel…" Elizabeth sucked in a breath. "Well it is not that simple!"

Kitty screwed up her lips which made her look very much like their mother when annoyed, "So, tell me!"

Elizabeth waited for the proprietor to come to their table and take their orders. When he had moved a distance away, Kitty blurted out in her impatience, "Do you love him? I worried that you did not!"

"Kitty!"

"Well do you?"

Elizabeth blushed a deep red and refused to speak, finding the table top of infinite interest. For Kitty it was answer enough, "So what is the problem then! He obviously loves you. You love him! Why isn't it simple?"

Kitty loud voice was starting to attract attention, and Lizzy shushed her immediately.

Kitty just rolled her eyes at her sister but nonetheless did lower her voice, "So why isn't it simple?" she asked again. There were times when Elizabeth felt that her sister was entirely too grown up, and then others when she realized that Kitty still had some learning ahead of her. Maybe she should be told of what happened with Lady Catherine. It would be the opportunity for Kitty to see that all of her actions, no matter how small, could have detrimental effects. Perhaps hearing of Elizabeth's tragedy would help Kitty mature into a discerning and vigilant young woman.

Lizzy leaned across the table and closer to her sister— no reason for anyone else to hear this particular conversation, even if she was sure that it would do Kitty good. "Do you remember when Lady Catherine came to visit us?"

"That starched-up, pompous, old harpy?" Kitty snorted.

"Kitty!"

"Well, she was," Kitty insisted.

Lizzy tried and failed to stifle a small giggle. "It is very wrong to speak of her as such." But the sternness of her words was undermined by the active twinkle in her eye.

"And," she whispered, suddenly serious once more, "Lady Catherine met her demise in our park."

Kitty nodded.

"I was speaking to her at the time and…oh Kitty, I fear it was my fault."

Kitty's brow wrinkled. Never the quickest of the sisters, it took her several full minutes to digest this. "But mama and I watched from the window. You didn't _do_ anything to Lady Catherine."

"I said some things I should not have."

"And that made her…" Kitty's voice had risen, and Elizabeth shushed her again, "But that doesn't make any sense!" she whispered. "How could she die from something you said?"

"Have you heard of apoplexy, Kitty?"

Kitty's brow wrinkled, "No, should I have?"

"It is a condition usually brought on by stress or extreme anger and sometimes results in death."

"So Lady Catherine got mad at you and died?"

"Well, yes, but…" When it was put so simply it made Lizzy feel a bit silly about all of the guilt she had been harboring the last several months.

Kitty's brow cleared, "So it was her fault!"

"No, it was my fault."

"And what does Mr. Darcy have to do with this?"

"Lady Catherine was his aunt," Elizabeth informed her.

"Oh," another few minutes of quiet surrounded the sisters. "Does Mr. Darcy know any of this?"

"Yes, but he says it does not affect him." Elizabeth looked out the window, briefly unable to face Kitty. "I believe someday it will though."

"You mean, I suppose, that someday he will end up blaming you for something that was Lady Catherine's fault?"

"No. Yes. Oh, I don't know!"

"Lizzy," Kitty looked down and played with her handkerchief idly for a moment, "Do you…you weren't there when the news arrived, but I remember everyone else was so angry at Lydia for eloping. And then they were all angry at me for not telling anybody about her intended elopement." Tears welled up in the young woman's eyes. "I had thought that everyone had forgiven me by now…but if what you say is true… If you are really at fault for Lady Catherine's death, does that mean that I will always be at fault for Lydia's elopement because I knew about it and said nothing?"

"No, Kitty, no, of course not!" Suddenly this conversation was not going at all as Elizabeth had planned. Every time she felt she had her sister figured out, Kitty would do something unexpected.

Elizabeth cleared the lump that had risen unexpectedly in her throat. "Lydia made her choice. Regardless of your prior knowledge of the events, _she_ is at fault; no one could blame you for _her_ actions. Knowing Lydia, she would have managed to do just what she wanted even if you had told someone."

She leaned back just as the serving boy brought their ices. Kitty's brow was furrowed again as she took slow bites of her dessert, thinking very hard. Elizabeth was no less distracted, her own thoughts centered on Mr. Darcy's recent amiability. And now he was to call on them tomorrow! How was she to manage?

Kitty finally pushed her bowl aside having hardly tasted any of the treat, her mind wholly occupied with other things. "Then Lizzy, I don't see how it is not the same thing?" She pushed one of her curls behind her ear absently. "Isn't it?"

As Elizabeth began shaking her head, Kitty's voice grew stronger, "No I am certain. It _is_ the same thing. You all have forgiven me for not sharing Lydia's planned elopement because it was her fault she behaved so wickedly. Perhaps you should not have, but you did. Sometimes I think that I do not deserve it, but then you stood up for me to Mama and took me to London, and I know that perhaps someday if I try really hard, I will be able to make up for that mistake."

How long, Elizabeth wondered, had Kitty blamed herself for concealing the truth of Lydia's elopement? And yet, though Kitty had done wrong, they all had forgiven her, they all had forgotten. "Kitty," she soothed, "Of course we have forgiven you. We love you, why would it be otherwise?"

"Because, Lizzy," Kitty said triumphantly, "Mr. Darcy loves you, too! And it is obvious that _he_ has forgiven you. Why else would he seek you out in London and be so kind to you?"

"But…"

"No, Lizzy! Don't you see? Lady Catherine died because _she_ got angry at _you._ If you can forgive me so easily for concealing what I should not have, why cannot Mr. Darcy forgive you for happening to be in the flower garden when Lady Catherine killed herself?"

Lady Catherine killed herself? It was something that Elizabeth had not considered in quite that way before. Apoplexy, death based on stress or anger, brought on by an individual's own temperament. If it was true, then Elizabeth had been wrong all along.

Equally mortifying was her contemplation of the question of why she had expected so little kindness from Mr. Darcy even after he had all but promised it! He had said he loved her. Why didn't she believe him? At the time she had scoffed at it, wondering how that was to make things better. But somehow he had known it was exactly what she needed to hear. For it was exactly the same reason why Kitty knew that her family had forgiven her. Because they all loved her!

A coachman entered the shop, "Carriage for the Miss Bennets?"

Both women looked up confused; had their aunt sent a coach for them? But this was not their aunt's servant, and their aunt had not known their exact plans. Elizabeth rose and approached the man, her eyes wide. "I am Miss Bennet, but we did not order any coach."

"Mr. Darcy's instructions ma'am," Sam replied. "He told me to be here promptly at 2 o'clock and escort the Miss Bennets back to Gracechurch Street, if they were ready to go. If not, I am to check back every quarter of an hour."

Elizabeth felt strange using Mr. Darcy's carriage, but there was little she could do in the face of such conscientious planning on his part. There was obviously no expectation that she and her sister would _not_ take advantage of his benevolence. She looked towards Kitty who had come up behind her, already carrying their parcels. "I believe we are ready to leave if you would be so kind as to lead the way."

Her eyes widened further still when she and Kitty came upon the elegant carriage sitting on the street. No one in Meryton had such fine equipage, not even Mr. Bingley! And Mr. Darcy had sent it to convey them home?

She softly touched the smooth velvet upholstery once she was inside. Mr. Darcy, so far above her family, and yet so kind, not condescending or prideful at all! Hadn't he proved himself, painstakingly taking all of her condemnations and improving his character for the better? And all for her! She shook her head, feeling very foolish. Perhaps she _should_ have believed him. Perhaps he really had already forgiven her. That he would never forget about her was becoming increasing evident! Now what was she to do?


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21 **

Elizabeth had always considered herself a rather sensible young woman. She knew she would never be lauded as the most beautiful Bennet sister, nor that she would ever be a truly gifted performer at the pianoforte either. For the majority of her life, she had been objective enough to be able to accept what she could not change about herself, willing to look towards happier musings, instead of dwelling on trite moroseness. It had been extremely flattering to her that this type of good sense had earned the approbation of her father as well as most of the denizens of the neighborhood surrounding Meryton.

Falling in love had changed her, though, and now it seemed that before she did anything she thought of _him_, of how _he_ would react, if she could ever be worthy of _him_. She wished so much to be more, better somehow, in ways she had never contemplated before!

After the death of his aunt, she had thought that he would be unable forgive her once he understood all the specifics of that tragic event. Certainly he would turn away from her, calling out for her immediate punishment. But he had not. He had told her he loved her. He had treated her so generously when he came upon her in London. He had requested the right to visit her at the Gardiners' home.

At first, the realization she had possibly judged him wrongly had been doubted. She had not been often wrong in her two and twenty years. To be so in error was humiliating! Such insights she found surprisingly easy to accept, albeit a bit warily; it seemed she was often wrong where Mr. Darcy was concerned. She had been wrong a year ago about the accusations she had made against him when he had proposed, and now she had been wrong about his reaction to the truth about his aunt's last moments. If only she had listened to Jane!

Along with this rationality came equally acute embarrassment— how was she to face him again? She had been so cruel to him, so callous. How could he continue to care for her so in the face of such cruelty? That he was still attending to her was, well, it was unfathomable! She did not understand it.

She could feel this to be her last chance to do what she must; it would slip through her fingers in a moment if she was not careful. She must speak to him. She must apologize for all of the grief and misunderstandings she had caused; throw herself on his mercy. It was brazen of her, but she could not allow him to continue in ignorance. She did not deserve any of this good fortune, but she would utilize it, nonetheless. And today was the day he was to call!

In such a young household, Mrs. Gardiner did not typically have her morning calls begin before 12 o'clock as that was after the children had been roused from their play in nursery long enough to have a light nuncheon with their parents before being confined to their school room for their lessons. It had not occurred to Elizabeth to inform Mr. Darcy of this as he seemed a man diverse enough to attend to his morning visits much closer to the dinner hour than the reverse. She had been negligent, she discovered, when he arrived at 11 o'clock exactly by the sitting room clock.

"Mr. Darcy!" She rose to her feet, having no time at all to secrete the large pile of mending in her lap behind a suitable cushion. She had just taken up the task, hoping it would give her time to reorder her thoughts before he appeared.

"Miss Bennet," he bowed low, "I see you are being industrious today."

She looked at him sharply. Surely most of the women of his acquaintance did not have to attend to such matters as darning their young nephews' rent stockings! But there was nothing of contempt in his face. In fact, there was a deep appreciation in his eyes that made her quickly drop her own to her slippered feet.

Mrs. Gardiner, having already been informed of his arrival, entered just at this moment. Being not so far removed from the time when she herself was being courted, she had stalled, thinking that the couple in the sitting room would appreciate a moment or two alone before the appearance of their chaperone.

Elizabeth was unfortunately of a different mind than this and wished to sigh in relief at her aunt's timely presence. With Mr. Darcy still scrutinizing her carefully she could do little more than smile brightly, "Aunt Gardiner! You remember Mr. Darcy?"

Mrs. Gardiner spared one short bemused glance at her niece before greeting her guest. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Darcy." She moved to Elizabeth's side, and together the ladies sat on the sofa, leaving Mr. Darcy to a nearby obliging chair which he immediately made use of.

"I understand from my nieces that you have been in London for only a few days, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Gardiner said.

"Yes, my sister and I returned here after Mr. Bingley's wedding."

She looked once more at her niece, but Elizabeth seemed determined to remain mute. "And do you plan on staying once the season begins?"

Mr. Darcy nodded. "Though my sister is still not out, I feel she would benefit from some additional exposure to polite society before she is to make her curtsy."

"An admirable idea, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Gardiner praised him politely. "Miss Darcy is a worthy young woman; she does you credit."

"Thank you."

"We had hoped to see Miss Darcy today. I do hope that nothing is remiss?"

Mr. Darcy, though talking to Mrs. Gardiner, was entirely focused on Elizabeth, also wondering why she was not speaking. "No, my sister is well; she hopes especially to call on the Miss Bennets tomorrow. She was rather unluckily employed with her music master this morning." He did not say that he had purposely scheduled his visit particularly for a day when his sister would be heavily engaged. He had wanted Elizabeth to himself. Georgiana understandably had not been happy about missing the visit. She had been checking the mail daily, hoping for a note from Elizabeth, and now being made aware that her friend was in town, was desperate to see her. Darcy had convinced her to put off her own visit until the morrow, but only just. It would not do to offend her music master, he had reminded her, and Georgiana had capitulated, although with much regret.

"My sister and I look forward to her visit," Elizabeth finally added her own voice to the conversation.

Darcy gladdened, spoke to her immediately, "When I came upon you yesterday at Hatchards, you were buying books for your father. Did you manage to find something for yourself as well?"

"I would be a poor example of an avid reader if I had not taken the time to find something for myself. I purchased a selection of poetry," she admitted.

"Blake?"

"Wordsworth, I'm afraid."

Mrs. Gardiner extracted her own pile of linen from the work basket at her elbow and began to work at mending the hem of a dress, allowing Darcy and Elizabeth to continue their tentatively begun conversation. The discussion quickly became animated as they argued the relative merits of their favorite poets, and what each considered to be their greatest works.

After some time, inspired by Cowper's poem _On the Green Margin_, the topic had changed to musings from their respective childhoods. Mr. Darcy had just alluded to a supposition he had made as a child in reference to that particular work.

"Were you really convinced?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes. I was certain as a boy that he had visited Pemberley, and that one of its particular streams had inspired him to pen those words."

"Not the trout stream off of the back path, surely?"

Darcy was flattered that she remembered his estate so well, "No, there is another stream, in a distant corner of the estate, near an unused hermitage."

"There is a hermitage at Pemberley?" Elizabeth asked eagerly. There were no such things in Meryton, though there had been rumors that Netherfield had once boasted of a hermitage and even a hermit in residence some years before.

"A whim of my grandmother's," Darcy admitted slightly abashed. "I thought, as only a young child could, that perhaps Cowper had secreted himself inside so that he would not be discovered by any of Pemberley's servants."

"Oh, how romantic!" said Kitty who had recently joined the party, although Darcy and Elizabeth scarcely noticed her presence.

Mrs. Gardiner cast a surreptitious glance at the clock. Mr. Darcy had been there long past the reasonable half an hour morning visit; it would be impolite not to offer him some form of refreshment. "Kitty, would you be so kind as to ring for some tea?"

"Of course." Kitty left Darcy and Elizabeth to themselves, a smile forming on her face as she turned away. Her sister seemed happier than she had in months.

The tea arrived promptly, and Mrs. Gardiner asked Elizabeth to pour. Elizabeth blushed as she prepared the requested cup for Mr. Darcy, "One sugar, two creams."

The light touch of his hand as she passed him his cup nearly caused her to fumble. "Is there anything else I can offer you, Mr. Darcy?"

"Only your heart," he mumbled lowly. He was rewarded with a pleased little smile before she turned away, he noted, on slightly shaking feet.

Kitty moved to the window seat, perching her tea and cake precariously on her lap, "Oh, Aunt, it looks like it is a lovely day."

"Perhaps, if you could convince Lizzy, you might take a turn in our nearby park," Mrs. Gardiner teased.

"Oh, Aunt, you need never suppose that I would turn down such a scheme." Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly at her own inclinations.

"Mrs. Gardiner," said Darcy, "I would be happy to be of service as an escort to your two nieces."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth demurred, "but certainly you have some other more important tasks to accomplish this morning?" She would not want him to neglect his duties on her account. She had been unkind to him as of late; she did not wish to be even more beholden to his generosity when she so little deserved it. She wished that Mr. Darcy did not discombobulate her so!

Mr. Darcy smiled at her mischievously, probably guessing at her thoughts, horrid man! "Indeed, I can think of nothing that cannot wait a day or two."

He rose to his feet, offering his arm to Elizabeth. "If you would be so kind as to allow me to escort you, Miss Elizabeth?" She smiled at him and accepted.

After gathering the necessary bonnets and even a parasol or two to shade the ladies' skin from the strong sun, Elizabeth and Kitty were just beginning to set out with their escort for the park when Edward, the oldest Gardiner boy, learned of his cousins' plan and begged to be included.

"Not today, Edward," Elizabeth informed him. She looked at the grim face of his nanny standing at the top of the stairs waiting for her charge to be returned. "And If I am not mistaken, you are to be at your lessons."

"But I want to go to the park!" Edward insisted petulantly.

"Young man," Elizabeth said firmly, "with your current attitude you would certainly scare the ducks away."

"I will be good, cousin Lizzy, I promise." Edward's eyes had turned big and pleading.

"I'm certain you will, Edward." Elizabeth turned the boy back towards the stairs, "tomorrow, after church, and _only_ after, if you finish your lessons today! Now off you go."

Mr. Darcy smiled inwardly; he had always known that she would make an ideal mother, intelligent and witty enough to raise her children properly and lovingly. He only hoped that her children would be _his_ as well!

"I apologize for Edward's exuberance, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth tried to explain as they finally escaped the Gardiner's townhome, "He is young and I'm afraid has inherited my love of the outdoors."

Mr. Darcy smiled down on her and shook his head, "Tis the nature of boys, Miss Bennet. I remember my own tutor disparaging of me. I always preferred to be outdoors rather than enduring my lessons."

Kitty turned towards him, shocked, "But I thought you were a great scholar, Mr. Darcy?" That he had neglected his studies seemed inconceivable to Kitty.

"We all must start somewhere, Miss Kitty," Mr. Darcy informed her.

The park was quickly reached as it was not far distant from the Gardiners' home. It was on a small scale, no larger than a few city blocks square, and Elizabeth, when walking there, found it necessary to traverse the circumference of it several times before the distance equaled her morning's exercise in Meryton.

At its center was a small duck pond where the local nannies liked to take their charges when the weather was agreeable. The fineness of the day found several such ladies gossiping together while the children fed the ducks small scraps of bread. The ducks had just returned from further south, and this was the reason that Edward wished to be in the park. Though he was still young, he already exuded a particular interest in the natural world and its inhabitants. His parents, due to this enthusiasm, had begun contemplating the necessary tutors he would eventually need to guide his studies in a useful manner. All of this Elizabeth told Darcy as they strolled around the pond, Kitty walking slightly ahead, giving them what privacy she could.

"He will not take over for his father?" As the oldest son, Mr. Darcy had expected that Edward would inherit the responsibilities of Mr. Gardiner's business.

"No." Elizabeth shook his head, "But luckily for my aunt and uncle, their other son, Henry, displays an aptitude for learning mathematics and business. He already begs his father to spend most of the daylight hours at the warehouses." Elizabeth blushed as she realized who she was speaking to. That he would connect himself with such a family so entrenched in trade?

If Mr. Darcy noticed her distraction, he did not mention it, instead he offered, "That is rather revolutionary thinking."

"Yes. My aunt and uncle would not have their children unhappy in their professions," Elizabeth admitted quietly.

"And your own children? Would you act the same?" Darcy prodded calmly.

Elizabeth turned beet red, "I hardly know, sir." She fiddled with the parasol over her head twirling it back and forth with her fingers. "I have not considered it, I suppose."

"Don't you wish for children?"

His impertinence was not as alarming to her as she had expected it to be, though having been raised as a proper gentlewoman, perhaps it should have been! "Of course. Many women do, do they not?" She tried to subtly guide the conversation away, "Do you often walk in London, Mr. Darcy?"

"I do. And Georgiana and I walk in the square across from our home in the mornings before breakfast when the weather is fine."

"And is there a duck pond, much like this one?"

"No, I'm afraid not. _You_ are fortunate in your surroundings."

There was much warmness to his words and Elizabeth felt unworthy of such a liberal spirit. She knew that she must speak; he must know of it all. "Mr. Darcy, you are very generous to my sister and me. I have not yet had the chance to thank you for the use of your carriage yesterday."

He looked at her, his brows creased together in confusion. "I was happy to do it, I assure you."

"But, sir! I have been so…so horrid to you! Surely I did not deserve such attentions," she finished quietly.

"There is little you do not deserve, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth turned her face away, reveling in the way her own name sounded on his lips. She had feared that she would never hear such gallantry from him again.

"Lizzy?" Kitty joined them suddenly. "I am getting a bit tired; do you mind if I rest on this bench for a bit?"

"Not at all, Kitty. Would you like us to stay with you?" Elizabeth asked rather reluctantly. She hoped not, for she had yet to tender the apology that she knew Mr. Darcy deserved.

"Oh, no! I am certain I will be fine. Watching the children has been amusing me." She pointed to where there was still a small group of youngsters squealing in delight as the ducks surrounded them, eagerly begging for more bread scraps.

"Then we will circle the park once and return for you," Elizabeth promised.

"Miss Bennet," Darcy said once they were a distance away, "I am afraid I made you uncomfortable a moment ago. For that I apologize. I will not apologize for my feelings, however," his voice was firm. He would not be moved in this belief.

"You speak of feelings, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth spoke quickly. "Though I might regret it in a moment, I must tell you some of my own."

This was not a conversation that Darcy wished to have in such a public place as he was markedly worried that she was about to turn him away again. He could not bear to face such dejection in view of so many.

He looked around him. A distance away was an aged oak, its trunk substantially sized enough to hide both of them that they might have a private interview. Though he was not certain he desired it, there was naught he could do but allow her to say whatever she wished. "Miss Bennet, would you walk with me in the direction of that tree?"

Elizabeth took his arm, very conscious that her moment had come. If only he would not turn her away!

Once the tree was reached, Mr. Darcy leaned against it, trying to remain calm though his heart was beating rather rapidly in his chest.

Elizabeth folded her parasol closed, poking the tip into the dirt near her feet. "When we first met in Meryton, I was so certain that I was right in my opinion of you."

Mr. Darcy looked away, chagrined, as he remembered his own actions at the beginning of their acquaintance.

She could see what he must be feeling. "But I was wrong," she reassured him. "About so many things! Your aunt," she admitted very softly, "I do not yet feel that I was not culpable, but…"

"You were not!" He had turned back to her immediately, his eyes burning with such intensity as he pled with her to believe him.

"It seems I have my own pride to overcome in that respect," she admitted with a small smile. "For I know it will take time to believe that as you do. It is something I am endeavoring to conquer, however." She waved her hand temporarily dismissing her misgivings. "But that is not what I wish to say." She pursed her lips. "Mr. Darcy, I wish to apologize. I have been unjustly unfair to you. You have proved yourself the better person, in spite of my doubts, in spite of my lies."

He looked at her sharply. Of what had she lied?

"You see," she admitted, her voice breaking, "I did not know how you would react to the news of your aunt's death, and I foolishly suspected the worse. But in my vanity I could not tell you the truth at first for fear of that very reaction I was certain I deserved. I tried to turn you away, most cruelly, instead. It was very wrong of me to deliberately mislead you so."

She took a deep breath. "I did…I do…I have found myself caring for you in a way that has been unknown to me before. I would desire your good opinion in everything. I…I… love you, Mr. Darcy." She smiled up at him through the tears in her eyes. "I must say it at least once, for I would regret it eternally if I did not. You are a man worthy of such words. Whether they should be from me? I know not." She hung her head. "I am heartily ashamed of my actions. If you would never wish to see me again, please do not feel that I would ever blame you or think wrongly of you. You have been more than generous."

He looked away, overcome. He had always dreamed of hearing her say that she loved him. It had been wonderful, so much better than even his imaginings had conjured up!

It seemed too long for Elizabeth as she waited for him to speak; half hope, half agony warred within her breast, wondering what he would say! If only he would speak. If it was to dismiss her, at least let it be done quickly!

Finally his lips parted and his voice, so dear to her, rent the silence cleanly, "If I had a wish, it would be that you would allow me to continue courting you."

"Mr. Darcy, I…" The tears in her eyes slipped down her cheeks but she little heeded them. She did not deserve such happiness. It was all too much. Nevertheless, her heart beat its answer in a fast cadence in her chest. She knew what she would do, what she must do. "I would be honored to accept."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Check out my new novel "Allyson Rowe" at Amazon!<strong>


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

It was a very different Fitzwilliam Darcy that reentered his townhouse that day and much later than his sister had expected him! Poor Georgiana had been impatient for his return, unable to concentrate on her music, knowing her brother was where she most wanted to be. In direct consequence of this distraction, her music master had left in somewhat of a huff immediately following the conclusion of their lesson.

And it was only after she had practiced her pianoforte for a meager hour _and_ worked rather tediously on the embroidering of a pair of slippers for her uncle, the judge, that Darcy had finally appeared— distracted but happy. He had been somewhat despondent the last few days since they had returned to London, and Georgiana had wondered at it, hoping that nothing was amiss between her brother and her friend. Her fondest wish was that Elizabeth not bear the name of Bennet for much longer, but that she would, in a short amount of time, be called her dear sister, Mrs. Darcy.

"Brother, you are home!" Darcy smiled at his sister, kissed her rather absently on the cheek and seated himself in a chair by the window, gazing out of it, a silly grin plastered to his face.

Georgiana was desperately curious to know what had occurred to put it there. "I have not seen you this happy since before we went into Hertfordshire."

Darcy's smile grew brighter, for here was yet another way to be reminded of Elizabeth. Before meeting his beloved, his sister had never shown such fortitude when addressing him. "Not in any way to encourage euphemisms, but I do believe, sister, that I will soon be the happiest of men."

"Oh, brother!" She rushed forward to sit at his feet, resting her chin on his knee, looking up at him expectantly. "Am I to have a sister?"

"Miss Bennet loves me," Darcy admitted in a still awed voice. An hour had passed since she had said it to him, and he was still fully reveling in his success to make such a worthy woman feel for him so intensely. She loved him! It made his heart sing in response. It made him feel like he was walking on air. It made him want to write sonnets dedicated to her eyes. It was all he had ever wished it could be!

Georgiana would never believe that it could be otherwise. "Of course she does." She did not know much of what had occurred in the past between her brother and Miss Bennet, but she was glad that all of the misunderstandings seemed to be at an end.

"And will I be able to visit Miss Bennet tomorrow?"

Darcy smiled at her mysteriously, "Yes, but only after church!" he commanded rather cryptically, his silly grin returning full force.

At the closing of the church services at St. James Cathedral, Georgiana was anxious to be off to Gracechurch Street to visit her dear friend. Unfortunately, there were still several of their acquaintances in town for the Easter services, and they appeared anxious to greet the Darcy siblings. Many of them were leaving immediately for the country for the several weeks before the season officially began.

Georgiana would not be entirely sorry to see some of them go, Miss Bingley and the Hursts particularly. They had been invited by their aunt to Scarborough and could not reasonably refuse, though as Miss Bingley said, "There will hardly be anyone of worth in London anyway."

Georgiana was not sure if it was meant as a slight to herself or to Miss Bennet. Miss Bingley, upon learning that good lady was in town also, had frowned rather impressively and sneered. So she ignored Miss Bingley, wished her a good journey and went to find her brother, deep in conversation with a few other gentlemen all successfully avoiding the eyes of the matchmaking mamas looking for introductions.

Her brother, seeing her growing impatience to be gone quickly, bid his adieus to his friends and escorted his sister to their carriage. "Would you prefer to return home or would you like to pay a few calls?" he teased his sister.

"Is it too early, then, do you think?" she asked him anxiously.

He shook his head, smiling, "No, I think that we can reasonably expect the Gardiners and the Misses Bennets have returned from their own worship services by this time."

"You were teasing me, I believe," she smiled at him.

"Are you offended?"

"No!" she answered, somewhat perturbed. "It's just that it has been so long since you have done so. Not since before father…" she looked down, so he would not see her tears. Though it had been many years since his death, she still missed the only parent she had ever truly known.

Darcy lifted her chin, dutifully ignoring her wet cheeks. He knew from experience that she did not wish to have any attentions drawn to her emotional display. "I am merely happy, Georgiana. I cannot contain it, I am afraid."

She gave him a watery smile. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had already done much for her brother and their small family.

Georgiana found herself suddenly nervous upon arriving outside of the Gardiners' home. Though the home was well-kept, it was in a neighborhood completely unknown to her. She had not been aware that Gracechurch Street was so near to Cheapside! Thankfully she quickly forgot her fears upon being greeted by the amiable Gardiners and her own dear friend Miss Elizabeth.

Elizabeth set her at ease immediately by asking her how she was progressing with her new music master. On this topic, Georgiana had much to say, for though she had proved a poor pupil the previous day, the music master had still presented her with a new work from a relatively unknown composer. After being promised a visit to the Gardiners', Georgiana had discovered a renewed enthusiasm for practicing her instrument and had found the piece to be exactly to her tastes. It was spritely and happy, and Georgiana was enjoying learning it. Her confidence in her own talents had grown under such kindnesses that she even promised at some unknown future date to perform the piece for the Gardiners and Elizabeth if they still should wish to hear it.

As it was Sunday, the sitting room was quite full of Gardiners making a somewhat loud but very merry party, for the children's nanny had the day off and Mr. Gardiner would not return to his warehouses until the following morning. Little Edward Gardiner had not forgotten his cousin's promise of the day before, and after much patience on his part, an entire quarter of an hour after their guests had arrived, he finally began his pleadings that they take their walk in the park soon and before it grew dark.

"Did you finish your lesson yesterday?" Elizabeth sternly demanded, though her eyes sparkled.

Edward nodded solemnly and pledged that indeed he had, even the dreaded mathematics.

Elizabeth couldn't keep the smile from her face, "Well then, young man, if you are very good and go collect the hats and coats necessary for yourself and your brother and sisters, I suppose I must fulfill my part of the deal."

With a whoop, Edward set off, clambering up the stairs, his older sister Margaret hard on his heels, claiming that he would never be able to pick a suitable bonnet for her if she did not help him.

Darcy was adroit enough to once again offer his escort to the young ladies and their several cousins, and soon it was a large party that set off for the park, the two Gardiner girls walking in between Georgiana and Kitty. Georgiana would have preferred walking with her brother and Miss Bennet, for Kitty was a little too puckish for her tastes, but once they discovered their shared love of novels, they were able to chat together easily enough. Also, the presence of two young and impressionable girls also did much in keeping Kitty from saying anything truly outlandish!

The two boys walked with Elizabeth and Darcy, the adults struggling to contain their charges' exuberance. Edward calmed only when he was given the package of stale bread to hold. If he rushed ahead, Elizabeth told him as seriously as she could, he would spill the precious contents and then what would the ducks have to feast on? Solemnly, Edward had accepted this duty and held onto the bread carefully and as deftly as he would a delicate piece of glass.

The ducks were swimming together languidly in the pond, but on the approach of so many people, one of them which carried a suspicious package that looked very much like foodstuffs, they quickly came to shore, honking noisily as they surrounded the young people.

Edward firmly reprimanded them—reminding Lizzy very much of his father—telling the water fowl that they would not receive their treat unless they were willing to demonstrate a sense of decorum first.

Elizabeth bit her lip and looked up at Darcy, seeing the merry twinkle in his eye. She choked down the laugh desperate to bubble out of her throat.

The ducks moved back and calmed, but nevertheless, remained expectant. Edward handed out the bread pieces to each of his siblings and then together they began tossing bits of it to the ducks.

Unfortunately, it was not long before the selfish creatures had abandoned their manners and were once again crowding the children. Margaret, a stout girl of eight handled it well, but the littlest Gardiner, Sarah, a girl of only three, squealed, dropped her bread, and dashed to hide behind Elizabeth's skirts. A short snort of laughter was all Elizabeth allowed herself before turning to the child with a soft smile to inquire if she was all recovered from her fright.

"Yes, Cous Lizbeth," Sarah promised, though she still eyed the ducks carefully.

By this point, Henry Gardiner had grown bored with feeding the ducks and soon was looking for other distractions in the park, in particular the delightful looking mud at the pond's edge. Elizabeth knew better than to return him to his mother in anything less than near pristine cleanliness and so promised him the indulgence of a good long run if only he would be so kind as to carefully place that large mud cake back where it belonged first.

Henry did as he was asked and then immediately took off across the park, his short legs barely keeping up with his body's momentum. If Darcy had not been beside her, Elizabeth would have immediately followed. Instead, she walked rather briskly after him, accompanied by Darcy and Sarah, keeping him in her sights, occasionally exhorting him to take care and slow down.

Kitty and Georgiana wisely chose to stay by the pond with Margaret and Edward. A few of the ducks made to follow Darcy, hoping he would produce some breadcrumbs for them as well, but a hardy stare from that gentleman and they thought better of it, scurrying back to the smaller humans who were infinitely more generous.

Elizabeth chuckled lowly.

"What has humored you so, Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked.

"I was thinking how well you managed those ducks just now with your masterly use of such a stare." Darcy's face reddened all the way down to the knot of his cravat. "Does such a stern look as you gave them have much effect on humans or does it only work on water fowl?" she teased.

"I cannot tell you," Darcy mumbled, still unused to being laughed at by his beloved.

Elizabeth tentatively laced her arm through his, looking at him carefully. He managed a brief glance at her, his face still flushed, his eyes pained. "Thank you for rescuing us from the ducks." She smiled at him softly, encouraging him to respond similarly. There was still so much they did not understand about each other!

"Cous Lizbeth?" Little Sarah was actively tugging on Elizabeth's skirts.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"How does Henry run fast?" As the youngest child and with several intelligent siblings, Sarah had been intensely inquisitive almost from the moment she had first begun to speak.

"He has very long legs, Sarah. That is how you run fast. Someday you will have long legs, too," Elizabeth promised.

"You have long legs, Cous Lizbeth. Do you run fast, too?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to crimson, "It is not proper for young ladies to run in such a public setting, Sarah."

Sarah pondered this for a moment. "Why?" she finally demanded.

Elizabeth sighed, "I do not know Sarah. I just know that I ought not to do it."

"I like to run," said Sarah, and then as if to offer proof, she set off after Henry as fast as her legs would carry her.

"Slow down, Sarah!" Elizabeth pleaded before turning to Darcy. "I'm afraid we have all displayed our most hoydenish characteristics now, Mr. Darcy. I suppose all that remains is to tell you that as a child I engaged in, and frequently won, several neighborhood foot races. What must you think of us?" she asked him impertinently.

"Do you still engage in foot races, Miss Bennet?" some of his humor had thankfully returned.

"Sadly, as a lady," she informed him, not truly looking sad at all, "I cannot tell you."

After all of the bread had gone and the ducks had finally lost interest in searching the grass— and occasionally Edward's pockets— for more, the four adults gathered the children together to return to Gracechurch Street. There was little that was enticing about leaving the park on such a fine day, but the grumbling of little stomachs quickly persuaded the children that the time for the midday meal had arrived and it would not do to miss cook's special Sunday pudding.

Darcy and his sister, well aware that their call had descended from polite to impudent, quickly took their leave of the family, promising to return sometime later in the week.

After a speaking look from Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Gardiner asked the Darcys if they would be good enough to join them on Wednesday for dinner? The Darcy's accepted graciously and enthusiastically, and a time was agreed upon.

The intervening days before Wednesday arrived passed very slowly for Elizabeth. Enjoyable diversions became tedious, and she found herself nearly scolding Kitty for once again pulling apart a bonnet to remake it in the latest style. Had she not done such a thing just the week before? There was also not one book in the Gardiner library that appealed to her, and she spent several hours just sitting at the pianoforte willing her fingers to practice, or hovering near the window in the front sitting room sighing over the lack of visitors.

She had hoped to see Mr. Darcy at any moment, but he never came. Logically, she knew him to be a busy man, probably occupied with much business, but the amount of time she spent alone allowed certain fears to intrude, and she worried that she had been excessively impertinent to him on his previous visit. He had once told her he liked her so, but she could not help the anxiousness that settled in her mind. Had she offended him? He had seemed eager enough to return on Wednesday to partake of dinner with the Gardiners, but why would he not come before then?

She could not know how hard Darcy was working during that Monday and Tuesday, for the rains of spring had finally descended on Pemberley. There was much information coming by letter from his steward for it was not often that Darcy was absent from his ancestral home during the planting season. This year was particularly hard, for the rain had fallen heavier on the fields than usual. One of the local bridges had been destroyed from the pressure exerted on it from the swelled creek, and a few of Darcy's own tenants had seen their homes flooded. Unfortunately, two of these housed large families, and it had taken several hours and a visit with his solicitor for Darcy to come up with a suitable solution for their temporary relocation.

He was not occupied enough that his thoughts didn't frequently turn to Elizabeth though, but there was little he could do besides work harder to get his business concluded quickly so that he might be with her again at the soonest possible moment. Her recent attitude towards him was so very different than it had been in Meryton, and he often reveled in that, reminding himself of how she felt for him, her words of love ever resounding in his ears.

Wednesday finally came, and with it, a sense of urgency settled on both to appear at their best before the other. Darcy went through four waistcoats before settling again on his standard black, and Elizabeth tried on all of her evening dressings before declaring that nothing was suitable. Her aunt with a subdued gleam in her eye finally came to her rescue, offering her a bit of lace that would serve as a lovely collar for Elizabeth's pale yellow satin, and allowing that her own imported Indian shawl of the softest silk would do well draped around Elizabeth's shoulders.

A planned dinner with the Gardiners' acquaintances had not been a recent decision that evening—though the Darcys' inclusion had been so—and Darcy and his sister were a bit perturbed to be ushered into the home amidst an already bustling house party.

Darcy tried not to appear too severe amongst these unknown people, but he was never as uncomfortable as he was with people he did not know. He found himself frowning heavily in Elizabeth's direction noting that she already seemed to be enjoying the singular attentions of a gentleman who so little cared for his own raiment that he must be some sort of poet.

Jealously, Darcy wondered if he was even now composing a poem on the fineness of Elizabeth's eyes. He nearly moved towards her, ready to declare publically that she was his. Thankfully, the timely appearance of Mr. Gardiner stayed him from making such a blunder before he had obtained the lady's assent, and he turned to offer his greetings to the master of the house instead. He would never know how his feelings had shown so readily in his face, alerting the Gardiners who quickly moved to his aid. When he turned back to look longingly in the direction that Elizabeth had been, he saw immediately that she was now before him, her face a wreath of smiles, her aunt at her elbow.

"Mrs. Gardiner. Miss Elizabeth." It was not strictly proper to greet her as such since she was now the eldest unmarried Bennet, but he could not help but allow himself the exquisite taste of her name on his tongue.

"Mr. Darcy," her voice was quietly soft as she offered him her hand. No matter the opinion of her poet swain who was currently frowning at her back, _she_ was at least happy to see him.

Darcy bowed over it deeply, nearly bringing it to his lips.

Regrettably for Darcy once again, he had very little time to converse with her before the gonging of the supper bell, and Darcy was mortified to discover that her poet swain had already engaged her to walk into supper with him.

Darcy led his sister to the table instead and tried not to appear too disappointed. He was gratified at least to see Elizabeth's place as far away from the poet as possible and next to her uncle's. Darcy's own place was opposite her, his sister at Elizabeth's side.

Though Mr. Gardiner wholeheartedly approved of the courtship of his niece, he still wished to know Darcy better, and he heartily engaged him in conversation even before the arrival of the soup course. Mr. Darcy was impressed as he had always been with Elizabeth's uncle. Mr. Gardiner's intelligence was great, and his interests varied; he was just as interested in the price of oriental silk as he was in the modern improvements that Darcy had recently began on his farms at Pemberley.

Being across from each other, Darcy had no opportunity to speak with Elizabeth during dinner, but he could look, and so could she, and together much passed between them through his ardent looks of affection, and her shy answering smiles. Her head turned towards him so often that she nearly upset her fish course into her lap. Never had he seen Elizabeth so attentive to him, and he reveled in the feelings it inspired in him. This was all he had wished to be between them in Meryton. That it was now taking place in London and under more pleasurable circumstances made it all the more precious to him.

The men did not linger long over their port but returned to the drawing room just after the ladies had settled themselves into their conversations. Darcy was grateful to not see any card tables set up, for that meant that he could spend the rest of the evening exclusively at Elizabeth's side. She was already seated on the sofa beside his sister, an empty space at her right elbow. After only one brief encouraging smile from her, his feet took control of the rest of his body, and he was at her side in a moment.

Seating himself quickly, he thought to compliment her on her shawl, and she thanked him before they fell into a kind of awkward silence. With a knowing smile, Georgiana rose from her seat and approached Mrs. Gardiner to ask if she could help distribute the tea and coffee.

Most unluckily the poet swain saw his opening and quickly took Georgiana's place on the sofa, immediately expounding on topics both generic and inappropriate for a sitting room but still managing to occupy Elizabeth's sole attention on himself. At least Darcy thought so.

Further discouraging Darcy, an elderly lady settled herself into a chair opposite the sofa and firmly engaged him in conversation about her various health complaints for the remainder of the evening. There was little he could do but try to remain civil, even if he wished the poet swain to Jericho along with the geriatric sufferer.

It wasn't much longer before his patience had been completely exhausted, and it was the Darcys that first broke up the party.

Elizabeth quickly left the sofa to join them as they gathered their coats, a heavily concerned expression marring her lovely face. "You are leaving?"

"Yes," Darcy said rather curtly, "I do believe that we must." He was trying to remain courteous, but a night spent watching her being effectively courted by someone other than himself was proving beyond his limits at the moment.

"But surely you cannot mean to leave so early," she pleaded.

Georgiana looked between the two and wisely took herself off to a distant corner to button up her pelisse so they could have a moment of privacy.

"Please thank the Gardiners for the invitation," Darcy told her as kindly as he could.

"And will we be seeing you again soon?" Her voice was desperate, and he realized that he had probably scared her with his curt behavior.

"Perhaps tomorrow?" he promised, though his voice was still flat.

"I will look forward to seeing you."

It was not until much later as he lay in the darkness of his room that he could fully meditate on the evening. He had not wanted to be jealous, but it was not easy to calm such feelings when Elizabeth was so lively with others. Not since she had met his cousin had he felt so possessive of her. Now that she was almost his, he felt it even more acutely.

At the Gardiner residence, a concerned Mrs. Gardiner was brushing out Elizabeth's hair as the house prepared for sleep. "Elizabeth, you seemed to enjoy Mr. Mayfairing's attentions this evening."

Elizabeth looked back at her, confused. "He was your guest. I was only trying to entertain him."

"At the expense of Mr. Darcy's own entertainment?"

Elizabeth's chin fell to her chest, her eyes closing, trying to erase the open censure she had detected in Mr. Darcy's face when they had bid each other goodbye. "I think I offended him somehow."

Mrs. Gardiner laughed sagely and quickly bound her niece's hair into a ribbon. "When I was a young girl, my mother always said that I possessed the gift of conversation; I could talk to just about anyone and be well entertained. It wasn't until I was fully grown that I discovered what she had meant. I, like your uncle, enjoy being surrounded by people often. We enjoy talking with them, interacting with them. You are much the same, one of the reasons we enjoy having you visit us so much! But not all people are that way. Some, like Mr. Darcy, seem to enjoy, instead, a quiet evening at home with only their most intimate acquaintances." Mrs. Gardiner pursed her lips, "Perhaps we should have warned him there were going to be several other guests this evening."

"Yes, he did seem rather overwhelmed."

"You do not begrudge him such feelings?" Mrs. Gardiner asked carefully.

Elizabeth frowned, "How could I when my own father is of such a similar retiring nature?"

"But you are so lively, my dear. Would you wish to be shut up in a country estate like your mother with few sources of entertainment for much of the year?" Mrs. Gardiner's words might appear in jest, but Elizabeth knew that she was being perfectly serious.

"If I loved my husband well enough, I believe I could be happy with only him for company even among the natives in the wilds of Africa!" Elizabeth asserted.

"And do you love Mr. Darcy?"

Only such a beloved aunt could get away with such a question. Elizabeth did not hesitate a moment in her answer, "Yes, I love him, very much."

"Then you must make sure he knows how happy _his_ company makes you." It was as close to a scolding as Mrs. Gardiner would approach this evening, but if Elizabeth did not effectively heal the pained look that Mrs. Gardiner had seen in Mr. Darcy's eye every time she had laughed at something Mr. Mayfairing had said, they would revisit the topic promptly and with more determination on her part!

The next day brought a slightly heavy-eyed Darcy to the Gardiner door promptly at 11 o'clock. His sleep had been fitful at best, and he had finally abandoned it, leaving his home at the earliest appearance of the sun on the horizon, hoping to dispel his moroseness in a brisk walk around the park across from his townhome. The early morning sun had done much for him, as well as Elizabeth's large grin when she greeted him in the Gardiners' sitting room. She curtsied low and offered him her hand immediately.

As they were alone, he took the time to press an ardent kiss to the tips of her fingers, and the warm answering glow in her eyes was all that he could ask for.

All good things are often interrupted, and it happened that Kitty came into the room just then, a letter clutched in her hand, ready to tease her older sister. "I believe that you have received an urgent letter, Lizzy?"

"What? Who could this be from?" Elizabeth turned the letter over a few times reading the unfamiliar handwriting. She opened it quickly, blanching as she read the first line. "It is a sonnet from Mr. Mayfairing!" she said unbelievingly. Oh that the man could be confined to Jericho!

She briefly peeked up at Darcy only to see him stiffen. That he was jealous boosted her ego, but not enough that she was willing to let him continue suffering so. With a determined step, she took the offending work to the side of the room with the fire and flung it into the burning blaze. She watched as it was quickly reduced to ash, but she refused to mourn it. With a lazy kind of a shrug, she quickly returned to Darcy, not sparing another though to Mr. Mayfairing. "I believe we were speaking of the spring at Pemberley?"

Darcy could not keep the grin off of his face for the remainder of the visit. Particularly because of the attentions Elizabeth afforded him. Instead of settling herself apart from him on the sofa, she sat rather nearer to him than was strictly proper, and occasionally her own skirts would brush up against his boot as she sipped her tea. When passing him his own cup, her fingers deliberately brushed against his, and she refused to be drawn into any conversation that did not include him.

The touch of her tiny hand on his arm as he finally, and reluctantly, took his leave, and the ardent look in her eye as she smiled at him, was enough to fully restore him to his good humor. "May I call on you again, tomorrow?" His voice was husky and low as they stood together at the door.

Her shy "yes," set his heart ablaze.

If sleep had been elusive the night before, it was practically nonexistent that evening. He wanted to marry her; had wanted to marry her for over a year now. But was it too soon to ask her again? They had not been courting for very long. Not even a week unless you counted those few disheartening days in Meryton. A proper courtship usually occurred over the timetable of at least a few weeks, and here they had barely begun! But her attitude toward him this day had given him much confidence, and he wanted to entire world to know that she was his before future Mr. Mayfairings made their appearance.

But what would he say? The words of his previous proposal completely chagrined him. He was not the man now that he had been then, but he feared that in the moment, faced with her beautiful countenance, he would flounder and lose all of his good sense and spout off something equally offensive.

He tossed in his bed, his brain refusing to silence as it went over again and again the conundrum he found himself in. Finally, completely exhausted, he fell asleep just as the sun dawned.

He had hoped that spending the morning with his sister would do much to calm his nerves, but it only served to exacerbate him for Georgiana could talk of nothing but Elizabeth, telling him that she had received an invitation to come for tea the next day.

There was nothing on the sideboard that appealed to him, though he admitted privately that all of his favorites had been offered. He selected a muffin, buttered it, added marmalade and then proceeded to pick it to pieces.

"Brother?" Georgiana's soft voice interrupted his musings.

"I'm sorry, I was not attending."

"Are you well?"

He smiled, "I hope to be before the day is out."

Georgiana's brow wrinkled, and he knew immediately the question she was preparing to ask. Rising to his feet he spoke quickly, "I have an urgent matter I must attend to. I will see you for dinner." It was cowardly of him, but he could not share his plans with Georgiana until he had spoken to Elizabeth.

He thought that walking to Gracechurch Street was in order to further calm his nerves, but after more contemplation he realized that the distance was that of several miles and he would arrive dirty and certainly disheveled. No, it was best to take his carriage. But that would mean that the journey would be over in a matter of moments, leaving him no closer to deciding what precisely he would say.

He wondered what Bingley had said when he had proposed. Had he bungled through it as he occasionally did when he was nervous about something? Probably. And still Jane had accepted him. But then Jane was of such a forgiving nature. Not that Elizabeth was not equally as wonderful! Oh dear, the fumbling was already beginning and he had yet to even see her.

Perhaps if he started by telling her he loved her. That could not offend, and it was a respectable opening. But what to say next? Best not to give her his reasons for petitioning her hand; that had not worked so well the previous time! Should he tell her how he longed to see her at Pemberley as the mistress of his estate? Too wordy? Perhaps?

He wondered what a man such as Mr. Mayfairing would say. It was enough to motivate him to send for his carriage immediately, suddenly desperate to see Elizabeth. His impatience to be in her presence was all encompassing, especially if men such as Mr. Mayfairing had similar ideas today!

"Gracechurch Street," he demanded rather passionately the moment Sam had pulled the carriage to a stop at the sidewalk, "And hurry!"

His hat sat in his lap as his carriage lumbered quickly along, and he toyed with it fitfully, nearly ruining the brim before the carriage arrived at the Gardiners' residence.

"Thank you, Sam. Call back for me in an hour!" he told his coachman before hurrying to the door.

He was greeted by the maid who told him the ladies were within. She showed him immediately to the sitting room occupied by no less than Mrs. Gardiner, her two daughters, Miss Kitty and Elizabeth. Sarah was practicing her scales with Elizabeth attending to her, and Mrs. Gardiner was teaching Margaret how to embroider a sampler. All of the ladies looked up as he entered, and he realized that here already was another dilemma! How was he to get Elizabeth alone without mortifying himself or her in the process?

He chose a chair near to piano, his attention naturally turning towards Elizabeth as she patiently corrected Sarah's fingering on the pianoforte keys. How well she looked sitting with her young cousin. Sarah had her same coloring; he could almost imagine Elizabeth as her mother.

"Do you feel she is still too young, Lizzy?" Mrs. Gardiner asked, interrupting his revelries.

Elizabeth considered this, cringing as Sarah pressed a wrong key rather loudly. "Sarah has shown so much interest in learning, I could not deny her. And she has been sitting here rather patiently for the last quarter of an hour."

"My sister started learning at about that age," Mr. Darcy confessed.

"And she is such a delightful performer," Mrs. Gardiner told him. She set her sewing aside. "Perhaps if Sarah shows similar enthusiasm the next couple of days under Lizzy's tutelage, maybe we will see about engaging Margaret's teacher for Sarah as well."

Her eldest daughter called for her mother's attention, and Mr. Darcy returned his eyes once more to the scene taking place at the piano.

"Yes, very good, Sarah," Elizabeth praised her young cousin, "I think perhaps you are ready now for a simple tune?"

"Oh yes, Cous Lizbeth!" The little girl was all eagerness.

Carefully, Lizzy guided Sarah's hand over a couple of keys pressing them to play a simple tune. After repeating it a few times, she asked, "Well what do you think? Can you try it on your own?"

Sarah nodded gravely before carefully pressing the same keys her cousin had shown her. She made several mistakes, but nevertheless beamed with pride when she finally reached the end. "I can do it! Mama, I can do it!"

"And it was lovely," her mother avowed. "But now it is almost time for your lessons with Edward and Henry." She checked the clock on the mantle. "They should be returning with your Father momentarily."

"Can we wait here for Papa?" asked Margaret.

Mrs. Gardiner looked towards Mr. Darcy, his attention still exclusively on her niece. Though she was not of the same caliber matchmaker as her sister, Mrs. Bennet, she felt certain that she could detect something in his manner today indicating his desire to have a private audience with Lizzy. Ever a romantic, Mrs. Gardiner could not help but aid where she could. "Not today, my loves. Perhaps you would enjoy a few quiet moments playing in the nursery without your brothers around to torment your dolls?"

Both girls' faces lit up at such a treat, and they scurried off to the nursery without any further complaints.

"Lizzy?" Mrs. Gardiner set her sights on her oldest niece. "Before your uncle returns home and likely secludes himself in his library with his business letters, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Darcy that book of sketches of Derbyshire I was telling him about?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened considerably at her aunt's obvious ploy, but she graciously rose from the piano and offered to show Darcy the way.

On quitting the sitting room, she turned to him somewhat chagrined, "I must admit to not knowing what book my aunt is speaking of. Do you happen to know it?"

Darcy rattled off the title before confiding to her that it had been a book once in his mother's collection but had somehow become misplaced over the years. "My parents spent their honeymoon touring Derbyshire before settling at Pemberley. My mother would often show me pictures from the book, all of her favorite places." He smiled at the fond memories.

"Well," Elizabeth said, "I believe that my uncle keeps his travel books on this shelf and…" she looked over the bindings of several before seeing, "Ah! Here it is."

The sudden click of the door sounding behind her sent her whirling to face him, the book falling harmlessly to the floor from her suddenly lax fingers. Mr. Darcy stood not very far from her, his hand on the door knob of the now closed door. They were completely and utterly alone.

It had been the work of a moment to shut the door, but at the look of alarm on her face, Darcy wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake. "Miss Bennet…" He took a deep breath and started again, "Elizabeth, I can no longer go on. I must tell you how much I admire you." His heated stare burned a path from the top of her head to the end of her toes. "How much I ardently love you." He stopped then and cringed slightly, _oh dear this was beginning to sound very familiar! _Words were tumbling from his throat, and he resolutely closed his mouth against their utterance. Better to say nothing then to allow himself the reins to fumble about.

Elizabeth was looking at him confused. Such words from him today had been so entirely unexpected, she knew not what to do. She had just resolved to remind him of her own feelings when he abruptly began speaking again, "Elizabeth, will you marry me?"

There he had said it! Simple, short, to the point. Why had he not thought of doing that before?

A slow smile grew on her face, as her eyes filled with what he hoped were happy tears. "Do you really mean that?" she asked, overcome. "I have done so little to deserve you! Do you really want to marry me?"

He nodded his head, moving closer, taking her hand in his, pressing it to his heart. "Very much. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the great honor of being my wife? Of sharing my life and my home with me, forever?"

Her free hand raised tentatively to touch his cheek, marveling at the strength of his jaw, the handsomeness of his face, the goodness of his heart. "Oh, yes! Fitzwilliam, yes!"

He would have kissed her, his head was already bending to do so, when the library door was opened by a rather distracted looking Mr. Gardiner, his youngest son Henry at his heels. "But I think Father that if you order from Smeltzer instead of those wretched Italians you will turn a much better profit."

The air in the room had changed so abruptly with the reopening of the door that Elizabeth couldn't help but let out a low delighted laugh. Darcy looked between the newcomers and his beloved, trying to decide if he should be annoyed or amused at the intrusion.

"Well, son, I…oh!" Mr. Gardiner thankfully had looked up in time to prevent himself from running into the couple standing at the center of the room. "Lizzy! Mr. Darcy!" He looked between the pair, their faces mirror images, embarrassment and elation the dominating emotions. Mr. Gardiner, quite as astute as his wife, guessed at what he had interrupted, immediately. "Well," he asked, "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"Oh, Uncle," Elizabeth laughed again. "I am so very happy!"

Who cannot guess what happened next within such an intelligent household? There was much rejoicing, and only Darcy's coachman was slightly perturbed to have to return to Gracechurch Street three times before the poor man was finally invited to the kitchens to enjoy a celebratory tankard of punch. After a few careful sips, he was once more convinced that his employment in the Darcy household was fortuitous instead of tedious.

When Mr. Darcy returned to his sister, he could hardly contain himself, "Georgiana, you must congratulate me," he said as soon as the door to the music room had swung shut behind him.

His sister spun around on the piano bench with a squeal of delight, "Oh, brother, am I to finally have a sister?"

"What do you mean finally?" Darcy asked with mock severity.

"Only that," she twiddled her fingers together for a moment, "you took so long going about it," she finished quietly, her smile shy.

"That I did, little one," he admitted. "But I am finally the happiest of men."

Georgiana smile widened, "It is the best news in all the world!"

"But we cannot share it with anyone just yet," he cautioned her. "I have not received Mr. Bennet's consent."

"Certainly he cannot deny you," Georgiana insisted in all innocence.

Knowing that man's idiosyncrasies, it was the only thing that Darcy could not exactly be sure of now, and it made him very nervous. In only a few days, he would accompany Elizabeth and her sister Kitty back to Longbourn, and then he would be faced with the man who held his entire future in those peculiar palms of his!

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><p><strong>AN: Check out my new novel <span>Allyson Rowe<span> at Amazon!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Well this is it! Thanks for staying with me to the finish. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 23<strong>

Mr. Bennet sat alone in his library as was his custom, a favorite tome in his hand, sipping abstractedly from a glass of port. It was a new bottle, one brought specially by his future son-in-law from London. It was quite good, much better than his own inferior brand, and he was slightly perturbed by its superiority, wondering if Mr. Darcy had meant the gift as some kind of slight. When that illustrious man from Derbyshire had asked to court his Lizzy, Mr. Bennet had chalked it up to being a lark, certainly nothing would come of it! But then Lizzy had returned from London, all smiles again to insist that she was indeed desirous to marry the man, that she loved and respected him above all men she had ever known!

Well, frankly, it had hurt to hear such words from his favorite daughter. Somewhere, deep inside, Mr. Bennet knew that he was far from an ideal father, but at least with Lizzy, he had always done his best to guide her and mold her into the perfect companion. And now she was leaving him. He sipped the port again. And for a man that a poverty stricken father could never compete with! Mr. Darcy had been far too clever, for all of them.

Mrs. Bennet tittered to herself as she moved about her house, happy at the success of her own machinations. For certainly, if she had not thought to send Lizzy to London, none of this good fortune would have come to them. It had been a very good idea of hers, and now they would all reap the benefits. She found her attention settle onto the hallway rug, considering it carefully. For many years she had longed to change it out for something much more modern. And with such a rich son-in-law, anyone in Meryton would extend her all the credit she could ever wish for; all she would have to do was bring up Mr. Darcy's name in casual conversation! And imagine the credit that would be extended to her in London! She licked her lips with glee.

Chancing to look into the sitting room, searching for Mary, she spotted at the window the curtains that her mother-in-law had handpicked some decades before, when Longbourn had still been a profitable estate. The curtains, now of indeterminate age, flowed languidly in the spring breeze coming through the window. Mrs. Bennet had always hated those curtains. What good fortune that she could now update her entire house at so little cost to herself! She searched around for her bonnet, determined to make a morning call. Oh, Lady Lucas would turn green with envy when she heard the news!

In a rather dingy barrel that was in need of a good washing, the noble cane sat once again wedged between undignified company; if there was a less moth-eaten umbrella somewhere amongst his present company, it had yet to be pressed against it!

It is perhaps of value to know that this particular day was the cane's 547th birthday, though such an anniversary would pass unawares by the entirety of the world, including even the most distinguished cane. It had never bothered to learn its numbers, but if it had, it would, of course, have been a great proficient!

At the moment, it was being disturbed by a rather loud bit of crying coming from one of the upstairs bedrooms of its current abode. Was that? Could that possibly be an…an infant? Oh, for goodness sakes, what kind of household was this that children were allowed to cry so belligerently? Never at Rosings had there been such…such caterwauling!

The cane wondered again how it had come to be here. It remembered briefly having been handled by Miss Anne de Bourgh, the sickly daughter of its own wonderful mistress, but it had passed from her hands quickly, finding itself in a palm of such sticky sweatiness that the cane shuddered even now at the memory. It had been carried across Rosing's park and finally been deposited in this barrel. How much time had passed it knew not. Whatever the passage of time had been, though, it knew it had a right to greatly feel the insult done to its delicacies at such neglect.

A voice called from above the stairs, exuberant and sniveling, "A boy. Oh my dear Charlotte, I have an heir at last! I must inform them at Rosings. They will be so pleased."

That same sticky, sweaty hand that the cane detested so much rested itself around its head, and began leaning on it rather too heavily, the cane thought, to guide its steps towards Rosings, the once great home of the cane.

The hand caressed the cane slightly, and the sniveling voice spoke again, "I knew they could not remain angry at me for long. After all, they have given me Lady Catherine's own exquisite possession, such beautiful workmanship! No one has ever had such a cane as this. And now I have an heir for Longbourn as well. My fortune is complete."

A _complete_ fortune indeed, the cane decided sneeringly. Mr. Collins stopped for a moment to rub at his left arm, feeling curiously short of breath all of the sudden. _Ah well, must be from all of the excitement at my son's birth!_

Andrew Fitzwilliam had not previously been a man for deep contemplation. Military-minded, he was as strategic as he was brilliant, but it wasn't often that he could be found sitting in a chair, a cup of coffee at his knee, just thinking for the sake of thinking. He looked at the letter again, just arrived from Netherfield, his cousin's written words a bit shaky in his exhilaration. Darcy was finally marrying his Miss Bennet. The wedding was still several days away, but Andrew was certain that at least his mother would be anxious to attend the festivities as soon as possible.

He sighed to himself. With the spring planting fully in force at Rosings for the first time in nearly five years, Andrew knew that he would not be allowed such leniency to be away from his future estate to attend the wedding. Probably his father would go, though, already reconciled to Darcy's choice through the gentle subtleness of his wife's influence. The Fitzwilliams would need to make a show of supporting Darcy at his wedding against the derisiveness he would surely garner from the uptight and rigid members of the ton.

So it would only be him and Anne, alone, at Rosings.

Anne.

She hardly said a word, which he liked. She rarely asked for anything at all from him which he definitely liked! Rosings's menu had already been subtly altered under her influence for the better; there were more sweets to be had at every meal.

He knew that he would never be as happy as Darcy was with his Miss Bennet, there was little helping that. Though Anne had improved, her mind was still rather weak. She would never be truly intelligent like the future Mrs. Darcy, but all this withstanding, he couldn't say that he was unhappy with his choice.

A few weeks ago, when he had read in the papers of the disastrous outcome of the Earl of Chatham's advance against the mad Frenchman at Antwerp, there had been some regret that he hadn't been there to offer his aid and expertise. When the casualty lists had finally arrived however, reporting the names of dead enlisted men and colonels alike, he could only feel profound relief to have missed out on such bloody carnage. It was cowardly of him, he knew.

Additionally he couldn't quite shake the feeling that compared to Darcy, he was truly the fortunate one. He was alive and safe from future battles and that was much to be grateful for— a gratitude that he was certain would sustain him throughout the rest of his life. No matter how retiring it turned out to be.

How could he possibly repine when Rosings would soon be turning a profit, making him an exceedingly rich man? And he decided, as he noted Anne's passing by the library on the way to her sitting room, she _was_ looking particularly rosy today. All in all, not a bad existence for a previously penniless Army Colonel.

Lady Matlock smiled indulgently at her husband of some seven and thirty years as he read his own note received recently from Darcy informing him of his impending nuptials.

Lord Matlock leaned back in his chair and scratched at his chin, considering. "Well, she brings nothing to this marriage, it seems, except for her charms which, according to your son and nephew, are considerable."

"And Georgiana likes her," Lady Matlock informed him a bit smugly.

Lord Matlock quirked an eyebrow, wondering at such a commendation from his usually more taciturn niece, "Really?"

"Yes, a letter from her arrived for me yesterday. Four pages, crossed and re-crossed, speaking of nothing but the woman who is to be her new sister."

"So unlike Georgiana to be so verbose."

"Yes, but it makes Miss Bennet seem all the more worthy, does it not?" Lady Matlock challenged.

"So when do you propose that we leave for Hertfordshire to welcome her into our family?"

Lady Matlock giggled delightfully, making her look just as she had the day her somewhat prejudiced husband had finally fallen in love with her. "My dear, I thought you would never ask!"

The couple much discussed and contemplated by all of their closest friends and family were rather oblivious to all of these diverse musings. Today, after sitting with Mrs. Bennet in her parlor for several tedious minutes they had finally made their escape, heading towards a secluded shrubbed path in a distant corner of Longbourn park, with Kitty as a seemingly rather distracted chaperone, trailing behind, a basket at her elbow ostensibly picking flowers for a spring arrangement.

Darcy had intertwined his fingers with Elizabeth's the moment they had walked far enough beyond the prying eyes certainly present at any one of Longbourn's many windows. Her hands, he had lately discovered, were often much warmer than he ever had anticipated—even felt through the gloves she wore—and always so very delicate when compared to his own. He raised their intertwined fingers, looking at them together, turning them over.

"What is it you see?" she asked archly. "Is there a spot of mud on my otherwise impeccably clean gloves?"

He shook his head but otherwise refused to answer. He gathered her hand through his arm, pressing her close his side. The top of her bonnet barely grazed his shoulder. For such an energetic woman, she was certainly small. Her effervescent personality made her seem larger than she really was, and it was only in moments like this that he felt his own larger stature acutely.

If only she were a bit taller! There was something that he wished to do, something that he must do, or suffer the consequences of going crazy before he even reached his wedding day! He checked behind him. Kitty was nowhere to be seen, though he could hear her humming to herself from somewhere nearby.

"Does Miss Kitty sing?" he found himself suddenly asking.

"No she does not. It has never been something she wished to demonstrate."

"Her humming is delightful," Darcy grinned down at his fiancée.

Elizabeth blushed, "Oh, you can hear that? I'm afraid I taught her how. When we were chaperoning Mr. Bingley and Jane, we would often stay just out of their sight, but hum so they still knew us to be nearby and not neglecting our duties."

"Most effective," Darcy smiled. "And now Miss Kitty affords us the same privilege?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said. "She likes you."

"At least one member of your family seems to," he muttered.

"Whatever can you mean? Jane likes you, and even my mother lately has been kind, in her own way."

Darcy tugged at his suddenly tight cravat, "I am however uncertain as to your father's opinion of me."

Elizabeth placed her hand on his elbow reassuringly, "My father does not yet know you. When he does, I am certain he will claim that he likes you just as well as Mr. Bingley. And for my father, that is high praise indeed."

Darcy hoped rather than believed her to be right. At least Pemberley was far enough away that if Mr. Bennet remained stagnant in limiting his affections, Darcy would not be forced to endure it often.

Miss Kitty, had by this time, just turned the shrubbed corner nearest to them and was standing not five feet away, carefully looking at the flowers in the hedge rather than at them. Obviously by the bloom in her cheeks, she had not expected to come upon the couple so unexpectedly.

Elizabeth caught her sister's eye and briefly smiled before looking back up at her fiancé, raising one eyebrow impishly at him. She tucked her hands together over his arm, "Shall we continue, Mr. Darcy?" It was spoken so delightfully that Darcy once again felt the desperation of a man much in need of a moment alone with his fiancée!

He took a quick assessing look around the corner of the shrubs standing innocently beside him. At the opposite end of the park, near to those rhododendron plants beginning to bloom, he could just make out a largish stump that looked like it would serve his purpose rather effectively. He did not know how Elizabeth would react to being drawn quickly across the lawn so he kept her talking as he pulled her eagerly towards his object. "It has been many months since I have heard you sing."

She smiled softly as she tried her best to keep up with him, "I must confess that I am surprised at your willingness to hear me sing. I know I lack the talent of other women."

"I think you sound delightful," he told her sincerely.

The stump having been thusly reached, Darcy quickly put his hands about his beloved's waist and lifted her onto it. "Mr. Darcy!" She only called him that when he succeeded in completely surprising her. "What are you doing?"

Now her chin was at his shoulder. Perfect. He took both of her hands in his, ignoring her outburst, "Will you hum for me, dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth?"

She looked at him sharply, for his words seemed in jest, but she could see that he was being perfectly serious. "And what pray tell would you have me hum?"

He smiled, "Anything you can imagine."

Mischievously she picked a silly children's song and started the first few notes with an enthusiastic cheerfulness. Her voice died away when she suddenly felt his fingers at her neck, loosening the ribbons of her bonnet, letting it fall behind her back. "Fitzwilliam," she said breathlessly, "You are distracting me."

His hands returned to hold her own, squeezing them gently. "Terribly sorry, please continue," he said with mock severity. He was still learning to tease she decided, but with time, he would truly be a master of it. Perhaps even rivaling herself, she did not doubt!

She had just reached the second verse of the song when she felt his busy fingers once more, one of them raising to caress her cheek, the other at her back, drawing her closer to his body. Her voice died away as she looked up at him, suddenly very close, his eyes roaming her face, scorching in their intensity.

Slowly, he bent his head, his breath mingling with hers, to delicately touch his lips to her own. It was very gentle, soft as the whisper of a butterfly's wings when in flight, but it made her heart pound and her face suddenly flush. The hand at her cheek firmed minutely as he bent again, pressing his lips slightly harder against her own, urging her to respond. She complied; she could do little else. It seemed that she had only ever existed for this moment; nothing could ever compare to this again! Not a favorite book, or a warmed cup of tea on a cold day. This was what she had waited for her entire life!

Her breath caught in her throat, and he sensed it, stepping back, giving her time to compose herself, though one hand still remained at her back, and the other was now lightly twisted in the curls at her temple. "Fitzwilliam Darcy," she finally managed to intone, "I do believe I shall like being married to you."

His answer was laughter, rich and pure, and completely delighted before he bent to kiss her again.

Somewhere else, at not too great a distance from the preoccupied couple, Kitty suddenly grinned for no apparent reason at all and snipped off the first of the rhododendron flowers adding them to her ever growing bouquet.

**The End**

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><p><strong>AN: Check out my new novel Allyson Rowe at Amazon!<strong>


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